The Descending Darkness
by lionesseyes13
Summary: See Episode III from Obi-Wan's perspective.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I don't own anything pertaining to the Star Wars universe. (I'm only eighteen, so if you do the math, you'll see that's logically impossible.) In case, however, you believe that I did, I'll dissuade you of this notion by reminding you that George Lucas owns it all and I own nothing. (Makes you want to become a socialist, huh? Look at the inequity!)

Author's Note: I owe some of my ideas to the novelization of Episode III by Matthew Stover, so I'm also indebted to him.

On the subject of the rating, I am going with K plus for now, because I really don't think there is anything here that would upset my eleven year ols sister. However, if you feel differently, let me know and I'll bump it up to T.

Reviews: Feedback is always greatly encouraged and appreciated, so if you have the time I urge/ implore you to please hit the submit review button on the bottom of your browser.

Near Misses

All around me in a pyrotechnic display that would have instilled envy in any self-respecting sentient who made his or her living in the fireworks or explosives industry, anti-fighter beams streamed about my starfighter. The brilliant, combustible flares pierced my eyes, and, when they traveled onwards to strike some unlucky clone pilot at the speed of light, they left vivid streaks of their complementary colors gleaming in their wake for a handful of seconds.

It was disconcerting to contemplate that civilians on Coruscant below, clustering on the balconies of their conapts, might be gazing slack-jawed at the smears of luminescence trailing through the sky like multi-hued comets as though they were watching an entertainment at a festival organized by an august political figure whose term had almost. expired and who was seeking re-election. These citizens wouldn't see the desperate battle for survival and civilization that was really unfolding, I noted as I maneuvered my ship to evade the laser beams that were assaulting Anakin, the clone pilots around us, and me.

Actually, though, it was even weirder to reflect on the fact that trillions of beings― specifically the Coruscanti― still bustled about their daily business as if there was no war raging across the galaxy, when, ever since Geonosis, there had scarcely been a minute when the strife with the Separatists had not been stationed somewhere in the forefront of my brain. Force, I even dreamed about the conflict. My nocturnal musings were nearly always centered around blood, clones, droids, blasters, and grenades.

However, such thoughts were a distraction, I reprimanded myself, as I dove into a swarm of droid tri-fighters approximately as numerous as a hive of gnatflies. For some reason, the droids did not appreciate my arrival and fired at me. As I responded to their attacks with laser beam shots of my own, I remarked with a twisted inner smile that Intel had lied to Anakin and me again for at least the seven thousandth time since the Clone Wars commenced with several bangs when they had estimated that the Separatist armada was half the strength we were currently pitted against. Ah, well, at least we both had learned not to credit Republic Intelligence anymore than we would a meteorologist who had declared that Tatooine was in imminent peril of freezing over like Hoth by this point in our illustrious careers in the Grand Army of the Republic. Still, I added judiciously, I liked Intel. After al, it was marvelous for satisfying my innate thirst for heroic fantasy, which, in the present jaded galaxy, there was a shortage of, and, since my former Padawan and I couldn't fulfill such an inherent desire through the Holonet articles of our exploits as we realized just how much of our successes was a function of fortune as opposed to skill, we had to rely on Intel to meet that need. Good thing Intel was always willing to oblige in that regard….

Blast it, space is supposed to be empty, I grumbled to myself through the haze of dodging proton torpedoes and lobbing my own at my foes. A nanosecond later, I snorted at the folly of my own mind.

Never, in the past few millennia, had the space surrounding Coruscant been anything approaching vacant. Typically, ever since I had been a youngling figuring out how to ignite my lightsaber without impaling myself upon it, the capital of the Galactic Republic had attracted thousands of vessels everyday, bearing diplomats, Senators, tourists, immigrants, refugees, food, and goods from hundreds of diverse star systems from both spiral arms of the galaxy. Now, though, the crafts that clogged the atmosphere were warships, not cargo and transportation ones.

At least a lot of the battleships are ours, I reminded myself, attempting to put a positive turn upon a situation for once in my lifetime. The feeble, temporary flame of hope this notion installed in me evaporated more rapidly than a fair weather friend on Kamino when my vessel was jolted as a droid's ship exploded a few centimeters to my side.

Obviously, Anakin had scored a hit. Not for the first time, I observed inwardly how lucky I was that my former apprentice had an impeccable aim. Otherwise, I would be cinders by now. It was, also a plus that I was his ally. After all, I wouldn't think it was so lovely if I was the one he was shooting at. In this particular universe, everything was relative.

I despised this part― the frantic navigation through hostile and friendly fire alike while trying to destroy opponents, I complained to myself as a laser beam whizzed past the transparisteel viewport of my craft way too close for comfort. Flying was a nightmare that I had when I was awake, and an infinitely worse method of torture than many devised by beings who prided themselves as sadists. Flying was for droids.

It seemed that I had expressed this last sentiment aloud, because the comm system in my console cackled, and the next second Anakin's voice, which was filled with new depths of maturity after his experiences in the Clone Wars, flooded the cockpit. "There isn't a droid made that can outfly you, Master," he informed me, displaying his usual messed up sense of humor, since I suspected that there was at least ten factories' worth of droids in the galaxy that could outfly me.

"Sorry," I muttered absently as I dropped into a dive that slipped a turbolaser burst by a discomforting less than a meter's breadth. The steepness of the drop caused my stomach to scream in protest at this cruel mistreatment. Yes, if many explorers had possessed my stomach, the known galaxy would have been notably smaller, and hyperdrives allowing interstellar transportation at the speed of light would never have been invented. On a whole, I did not comprehend whether or not that would have been a bonus or not; I just recognized it for the stark fact that it was and saw no profit in denying it. Then, as if the answer to my question wasn't obvious, I added, "Was that out loud?"

"It wouldn't matter if it wasn't." I could practically see his head shake dismissively. Privately, I conceded he probably had a point. There was precious little in the way of thoughts, emotions, or intentions that we could conceal from each other. At times, it even felt like we weren't two people merging together to work as a flawless team, but rather one sentient who had, by some hoax of nature, come to reside in two different bodies, which explained how our names were always jumbled into one word whenever anyone spoke of us and nobody ever mentioned one of us without the other's name showing up in the statement as well. If future generations read about us in old Holonet articles, they would probably imagine that we were one being who was afflicted with an extreme case of multi-personality disorder. "I know what you're thinking."

I opened my mouth to reply to this, but my comment was chopped off as the fireball that had engulfed us a second ago when a proton torpedo broke nearby cleared enough for me to discern another squadron of droid operated vehicles lancing at us through the obsidian sky.

"Look out," I warned him reflexively, although I suspected that he probably had glimpsed them already. "Four droids inbound."

As I established as much, I swerved sharply to avoid the oncoming tri-fighters. Off to my side, Anakin's vessel made the same maneuver, inverted, in perfect unison. Paralleling each other, we whipped around the enemy formation and then swooped unexpectedly close to the two ships nearest us.

One droid spotted us and sent its craft whizzing after us. However, the droid in the vessel behind it, demonstrating the inherent lack of creativity or contingency planning that plagued our metallic adversaries, doggedly maintained the original course. Consequentially, the two fighters collided and went up in a hideous combustion that at this close range could almost be mistaken for a nearby star suddenly going nova. Such a dance worked miracles like that every time.

Two down, two to go, I noted grimly, keeping a tally of our progress because minor tasks like that kept one sane in the mayhem of battle. Unfortunately, the remaining droids would not fall victim to the same trick, because, much to my frustration, our alloy opponents were getting cleverer and cleverer ever passing day we spent attempting to disable each other permanently. Apparently, as unpatriotic as it sounded even to my own conscience, the Separatist thinktanks were more ingenious than their counterparts in the Republic, since they were capable of creating increasingly smart droids, whereas the best our brainiacs could do was invent Ready Rations that contained more and more nutrients for humans and became correspondingly inedible, as evidenced by the fact that our the outset of the conflict they had been the consistency of old rubber boots, but now were so unpalatable that even Neimoidians would gag as they consumed them, and, since their cuisine mainly consisted of a variety of fungi and algae, Neimoidains were not renowned for their culinary splendors. Perhaps our failure to match the scientific ventures of the Separatists could be accounted for by our plummeting educational standards in the Republic combined with the fact that ninety percent of our population would rejoice if math and science disappeared forever down a black hole. Whatever the case was, it made dealing with intelligent enemy droids no simpler.

"We've got to split them up!" I shouted at my companion through the comm.

"Break left," ordered Anakin. With the same placid air as if this was a perfectly rational proposal, he expounded, "Fly through the guns on that tower."

"Easy for you to say," I griped. Despite my complaint, I sent my fighter hurtling toward the artillery towers of the closest cruiser, ignoring every brain cell in my body that yelped at me that if I didn't lock myself up in a mental institution soon, I would end up killing myself. "Why am I always the bait?"

"Don't worry," he soothed. "I'm coming in behind you."

Even though I was busy fiddling with the controls so that I would not murder myself in this enterprise, I managed to muster the energy necessary to snort.

How exactly I always was the one performing the most dangerous feats when I was undoubtedly the worse pilot of the pair of us was a mystery to rival why poor people always ended up paying more taxes than the outrageously wealthy. Flying without crashing this close to a colossal battleship was a challenging endeavor to say the least, even with the Force for assistance. However, in an example of my typical luck, the droids weren't having much trouble at all. Both of them had stuck with me like warts, and they were actually gaining upon me. Burn it, where was my best friend when I required him the most? Probably daydreaming about Padme Amidala. Well, he could see her again if we survived this fiasco― the operative word being "if."

"Anakin, they're all over me!" I hollered, struggling to maintain my composure under this pressure.

"Go dead ahead," he commanded me cheerily, his upbeat manner implying that this whole dreadful affair was a hilarious practical joke played upon us all. "Move to the right so I can get a clear shot at them. Closing…Lock onto him, Artoo!"

In the background, I heard a faint beep of acknowledgement from Anakin's astromech, R2-D2, who was as precocious as its owner, through the comm system as I complied with my former Padawan's directives. A moment later, one of the tri-fighters around me exploded, staining the atmosphere vibrant crimson and orange in a brief dying throes before winking out of existence entirely.

That was a relief, but I would have been noticeably more elated if the second vessel had ceased firing at me. Unfortunately, its aim was improving as well, because it was manned by a droid who evidently subscribed to the noble doctrine of bettering oneself through dedicated, never-ending labor. That was the vexing thing about mechanical foes: it was nearly impossible to distract them, as I was well aware from too much firsthand experience.

"I'm running out of tricks here," I broadcasted to Anakin tersely. If he was planning on rescuing me again, now would be the ideal moment to do so before I became stardust.

As I made this announcement, the cruiser receded behind me. Out in open space, I was a sitting diki bird. Wonderful. Circumstances were just getting better and better for me. Today was definitely my day.

I needed something else to hide behind before I was blown to smithereens. As this idea occurred to me, a Separatist battleship loomed in my viewport. Granted, it wasn't the best thing in the known universe to take cover behind, but it was the only one available to me at the moment, and I wasn't in a position to be fussy about what I sheltered behind.

"I'm going down the deck," I educated Anakin, swinging my fighter toward that destination and narrowly evading another barrage of laser canons.

"Good idea," he agreed, still sounding merry. "I need some room to maneuver."

What space isn't big enough? I wondered. Once again, though, I was too preoccupied with skimming the surface of a gargantuan starship to voice this sarcastic inquiry aloud. Great. The ship was shooting at me now, along with the droid navigated craft hot on my tail. This was indisputably not among my top hundred brightest strategies for survival or thousand, for that matter, I concluded as I wove away from blasts charging at me from all directions.

"Cut right." For the first time, Anakin's tone was a tad harried, something which only prompted my innards to perform still more astonishing acrobatics. "Do you hear me?" The comm crackled as if plastiwrap was being rubbed over it, but it did not switch off completely, thank the indifferent Force for its microscopic mercies such as that, and I could still hear my comrade as he repeated his instruction and commanded R-2 to get a fix on my pursuer.

"Hurry up," I gritted as an enormous laser beam rammed into one of my wings, and my vehicle buckled in response like a bantha anxious to unseat a rider. "I don't like this."

"Don't even try to fix it, Arfour," I directed it when it whirred emphatically, announcing, as if I hadn't noticed from the flashing machinery on my console, that we'd been hit. "I've shut it down." Something, which, obviously, rendered evading enemy attacks harder since that was exactly what I needed in this situation. If Anakin didn't get a move on soon, there would be nothing remaining of me to save.

The telepathy that bound us must have alerted Anakin to the nature of my ruminations, because he asserted, "We're locked on. We've got him."

An instant later, the droid tri-fighter went up in a gigantic smoking flare that must have provided quite a spectacle for the citizens below on Coruscant.

"Good going, Artoo," congratulated my former apprentice.

"Next time, you're the bait," I pronounced to him. After all, air was his element, not mine. Mine was the solid, dependable, and utterly underappreciated earth. I could envision his answering smirk as I exhaled a quiet gust of relief. It looked as if, thanks to him, I might just survive another starship fight― only to get entangled in another one in the imminent future, no doubt. It was a charmed life I led. Returning to the business at hand, I went on, "Now, let's find the command ship and get on with it."

"It's straight ahead," he responded. Evidently, R2 had solved that conundrum while I had dodged death by droid tri-fighters. Well, at least my sacrifice would not have been in vain if I had perished when I had served as the bait to lure the Separatists in. "It's the one crawling with vulture droids."

"I see them," I confirmed dryly. After all, for any sentient who wasn't blinder than a dingbat, they were virtually impossible to miss, for dozens of the broad, half-flattened shapes crouched ominously behind the cerulean force field that shielded the open hangar from invasion by hostile aircraft. "Oh, this should be easy."

"Come on, Master," Anakin urged, and I pondered just how much of his exuberance was bravado― a warrior's way of spitting in the face of death to convince himself that it had no domination over him because it could never claim him or anyone dear to him― and how much of it was simply him trying to loosen me up before my jaw broke from all the clenching I was putting it through. I had never asked him, because I suspected that he didn't know the true answer to this question himself, either. "This is where the fun begins."

Watching Anakin ram on ahead, I shook my head, thinking that my best friend's definition of fun was pretty eclectic, considering that what he constituted as entertainment, most beings would regard as terrifying, a fact which suggested that Watto had walloped his head too much and too hard when he was his slave. That was my theory, anyway.

On another occasion, I might have followed him, but not this time. Not when our failure might mean that the Separatists were able to hold Supreme Chancellor Palpatine captive for a very long time, employing him as a hostage to sue for the Republic's surrender until we could devise another plot to rescue him. Not when everyone was relying on the two of us to save the day like the Holonet insisted we always could.

"Not this time. There's too much at stake. We need help," I countered. As I made this contention, I fiddled with my comm settings and called in the nearest squad of clone pilots for backup.

A moment later, I was glad that I had the foresight to do so, for the vulture droids had lifted off the battleship, surging like a dark cloud from the hangar and heading straight for Anakin and me. I had just enough time to note the arrival of a configuration of ARC-170 starfighters to the rear of Anakin and me when the vulture droids engulfed us.

After reducing one vulture droids to a floating mass of spare parts, I whipped around to reinforce Anakin as more droid fighters materialized from behind the cruiser. I fired at one droid, twisted away from a volley of laser blasts from two others, and warned, "Anakin, you have four on your tail!"

"I know, I know," grunted Anakin, as his vessel swept into a series of awe-inspiring defensive motions that any one of which might have been the death of a lesser pilot.

"And four more are closing in from your left," I added, since he might be so focused on dealing with the other four that this had escaped his notice, something that could be fatal. The last thing we needed was for our best pilot to be blown up before we had even reached the Chancellor.

"I know, I know!" he repeated, his clipped tone indicating that he was feeling no small amount of pressure. Seeing his craft sway wildly from side to side as it avoided laser fire, I understood his stress, even though it was remarkable to find my former Padawan flustered in a cockpit. For the most part, he was the epitome of confidence and composure when he was flying, but even the best of us could be shaken if the circumstances were harrowing enough. "I'm going to pull them through the needle."

Positive that the garbled comm connection had caused me to mishear him, because surely even he could not be so foolhardy, I gawked at him when I spotted him soaring through the long trench on the Trade Federation battleship toward a towering conning station that was propped up by two metallic leg-like struts that had a narrow slit between them, which, as Anakin had reasoned, droid fighters could not fit through. The only downside to his scheme was that even a Jedi pilot of his caliber couldn't do it without crashing either.

"It's too dangerous," I told him, hoping that he would heed me and elect to devise a better solution to his current crisis. "First Jedi rule: survive."

"Sorry, no choice," stated Anakin, his voice tight with the intensity of his concentration. Another burst of proton torpedo erupted around his vehicle, narrowly missing it, and causing it to shudder. "Come down here and thin them out a little."

Well, I did owe him one for saving my life earlier, and what were best friends and brothers for if not to try to prevent one another from dying because of their own idiocy? Sighing as I determined that Anakin Skywalker was going to be the death of both of us, I plunged toward the eight vulture droids, feeling as if what I was doing was comparable to a mankirat imprudently paying a social call upon a nexu. Clenching my jaw, I stared at Anakin's vessel as it faded in my viewport, speeding toward the needle, as Anakin ignored R-2's squealing that he required repairs on his cognitive module if he believed that this was an acceptable maneuver.

Personally, I was inclined to agree with the feisty astromech. In fact, based on his recent behavior I was reflecting that Anakin should have been referred to not as the "Hero with No Fear" but as the "Hero with No Commonsense" who, instead of possessing nerves of durasteel, had brains of the substance. Still, maybe he would prove me wrong. Maybe he would survive to tell the tale, after all. Doing the impossible by sheer force of will was Anakin's forte, and I had never hoped so much to be proven incorrect.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nope, I still do not own Star Wars, unless you constitute shrieking in terror and burying your head in your arms every time Darth Vader entered a scene when you were five as a from of ownership, which I don't.

Reviews: Review and you will get a free visit to a galaxy far, far away.

Accomplishing the Impossible

As I managed to destroy several vulture droids in a hailstorm of laser fire, I saw in the distance that Anakin's streaking vessel was virtually upon the needle now. Splendid. He had now reached the point of no returning, where he couldn't spin his craft away even if he desired to, as if he would. In all my years with him, he had never stopped plowing on ahead no matter how much I urged him to, behaving as if I were a man frantically and futilely signaling an off-duty airtaxi.

Still, although I could not prevent this latest insane foray, I could provide some words of wisdom that might improve his chances of survival. At any rate, they wouldn't reduce them, since nothing could do that.

"Use the Force," I reminded him, as much to soothe my frayed nerves as anything else. Since I was a control freak, I had to do something and repeating Jedi aphorisms seemed appropriate, even though I was aware that the day he needed my advice on flying, the whole galaxy was doomed. "Feel your way through and the ship will follow." Or do whatever you normally do in a cockpit as that appears to function all right. It was six of one and half a dozen of the other, really.

In response, Anakin grumbled into the comm unit something that sounded suspiciously like an irascible "I know." Obviously, my remark had irked him, because it must have fallen under the category of treating him as though he were still my Padawan, which he regarded as being as vexing as most sentients found filing taxes. What he had yet to figure out was that it was my way of dealing with stress. Even in the crèche, I had employed maxims to ease my pressure. In fact, it was something of a shock to me that more organisms did not perform similar actions. Well, once he realized that reciting trite epigrams was my method of releasing tension, he would understand that it was a peculiar display of affection, as well, since I was anxious about his well-being.

Fortunately, his aggravation with me did not seem to impede his skill as a pilot; in fact, it seemed to enhance it, as if he felt compelled to demonstrate beyond all possible dispute that he was no novice in navigation. While I could only gape, stupefied, at his dancing wings as if he had discovered the cure for the common cold, Anakin tilted his starfigther smoothly on its side and scraped between the eye of the needle with mere centimeters to spare. As he threaded the needle, I braced myself, fully anticipating that one of the struts would chop off R-2's dome.

Yet, luckily, this expectation went unfulfilled, it transpired. Instead, after my former apprentice had twisted through the gap between the supports, two of the remaining vulture droids, in a maneuver that revealed that the Separatists had not made automata that were quite as bright as the average human, attempted to follow the man who was justly rumored to be the greatest navigator in the galaxy in one of his most suicidal endeavors to date.

Unsurprisingly to anyone who wasn't afflicted with an exceptionally awful hangover, the vulture droids failed dismally in this enterprise, disappearing in yet another inferno because they were just a hair too wide to skim the gap.

When the first two droids impacted in a cloud of scarlet and muja, I triggered my canons in a downward sweep. The evasion procedures pre-programmed into the vulture fighters' droid brains sent them whirling away from my lasers, and, from there, straight into the conflagration billowing from the struts of the needle.

Glancing up from this pyrotechnic scene, I spotted Anakin's vehicle sailing straight out from behind the battleship with a rapid, celebratory snap of triumph. Grimly, I matched his course, but without the victory flourish. Unlike him, I was all for winning without style, because arrogance was always punished by tyrannical fate. After all, irids might soar, but molerats did not get sucked into hyperdrive generators very frequently.

Long before my friend was beside the tower, I had pulled up alongside him again, and our pair of crafts flew side by side through the jet black sky that was the backdrop against which this entire battle unfolded. Off to one side of us, clone starfighters dodged, wove, and shot in a lethal competition with a contingency of vulture droids, who severely outnumbered our valiant soldiers.

"I'm going to help them out," announced Anakin, automatically whipping his vessel about to head over and assist them. Although I would have liked to fly over and rescue the clones since my years as an officer with them in the field had inspired a powerful bound of mutual loyalty and respect between us, I couldn't.

They were the bait—the distraction that would occupy the enemy—while we saved the Supreme Chancellor. When it came down to it in the final analysis, the lives of a few ARCs paled next to the fate of the statesman who to so many Republic citizens was the emblem of their civilization. The clones recognized this, comprehended their duty, which meant everything to them, and would not feel any gratitude to us for protecting them, and, thereby, hindering them from completing their obligations. Thus, despite the fact that ever since I had first became acquainted with Palpatine of Naboo, I had fervently wished that he would be trampled over by a speeder bike, I would have to sacrifice the lives of at least a dozen brilliant warriors and good men for his sake.

Dimly, I reflected that life was always like that: the noble sacrificed themselves for the unworthy all the time, instead of the other way around. No wonder the universe was a mess if all the decent beings were dead or dying.

"No," I argued with a conviction my heart lacked but my brain possessed. "They're doing their job so we can do ours. Head for the command ship."

"Master, they're getting eaten alive over there," he protested as if I couldn't spot this moribund statistic for myself.

"Every one of them would gladly trade his life for Palpatine's," I pointed out, deciding that I would manipulate his affection for the Chancellor to persuade him of the correctness of my position. "Will you trade Palpatine's for theirs?"

"No," he admitted grudgingly.

"Anakin, I understand that you want to save everyone—you always do—but you can't," I interjected because it was the truth and we could not afford to squander any more valuable time debating among ourselves.

"Don't remind me." Anakin's tone was the clipped, reluctant one in which he rendered all his concessions to my judgment in. Another victory for me, I noted wearily. However, if winning an argument was intended to be a satisfying experience, it never was for me when I defeated Anakin in a war of words. Actually, I just earned an exhausted, hollow feeling in my gut after emerging triumphant from such a confrontation.

"Head for the command ship," I repeated crisply before he could change his mind. Then, without waiting for a reply, I shot toward the warship that imprisoned the Supreme Chancellor. Barely a nanosecond later, Anakin trailed after me, and soon he had caught up with me.

Within a minute, two droid tri-fighters materialized in front of us, lobbing missiles at us.

"Missiles," Anakin warned, as R-2 trilled the same statement. Seconds after, a pair of missiles whizzed toward my best friend and me.

Since my former Padawan was the lucky one, the two missiles that pursued him were approaching him in perfect tandem. Therefore, as missiles, thank the engineer who had devised them, lacked the sophisticated navigational computers of the droid fighters, one of them would have locked onto his right wing while the other did the same to his left, which meant that a quick roll would cause them to intersect in a blossom of flame, as Anakin showed presently.

However, I was not so fortunate. The pair of missiles that targeted my wings were not precisely aligned. Therefore, a roll would be worse than useless― it would be the death of me. Instead, I had to fire my retros and slam my dorsal jets in order to halve my velocity so that I would be knocked a few meters toward the glittering amber globe of Coruscant. As a result, the lead missile overshot me and careened off into the orbital battle to wreck some other spacecraft.

The trailing missile, though, came close enough to my vessel to trigger its blasted proximity sensors. Consequentially, it detonated in a maelstrom of sizzling shrapnel. Shoot, it was too late to turn away from the explosion, and my vehicle flew through the debris. To my horrified amazement, the shards tracked me.

A few seconds later, minuscule silver spheres rammed into my craft and latched onto it. Then, they split and sprouted like weeds, prying up my hull plates and exposing the vulnerable ship's internal workings to the assaults of the whirling blades of the spheres that had overtaken my vehicle.

This was a major problem, and it was only just beginning. Soon, it would reach the exalted rank of a catastrophe, or, if I perished, a tragedy.

"I'm hit," I hollered to Anakin, hoping that, mechanical genius that he was, he would have some notion of how to extricate me from the latest mound of poodoo I had landed myself in. Besides, it was best to keep your wingmate in the loop in emergencies such as this so they would not be blown into bloody fragments when your ship combusted.

"Buzz droids," he diagnosed in a voice of forced serenity as he darted through the air back to me after dismantling his missiles, confirming my suspicions, which only prompted the snake coiled inside me to wind yet more tightly. "I see them."

Hold on a minute. He could not possibly be thinking of trying to rescue me― not when buzz droids could destroy any ship they made contact with in less than ten minutes. By striving to aid me, he would only have the buzz droids cross over to his vessel, and then our mission would be a failure.

"Get out of here, Anakin," I ordered before he could do anything rash, because he had to survive to complete our job. If he did so, my death would not be in vain. Moreover, I had to make his decision to leave me as uncomplicated as possible, since I already was aware that it would rip at every atom of his being: the choice between whose life he esteemed more, mine or the Chancellor's. "There's nothing you can do."

"I'm not leaving you, Master," he declared, and I could see, as if he were sitting beside me, his chin jut out resolutely, just as I could picture the gleam of challenge that always glinted in his blue eyes whenever I asserted that something was impossible and he wanted to prove that it was, and, more importantly, that he could do it― that I was wrong, and he was right. Yet, even he had to recognize that, as powerful as he was, there were still forces beyond his control. Nobody was omnipotent.

"The mission, Anakin," I told him gently, wishing that he could make this affair easier instead of harder for both of us by dragging it out. "Get to the command center. Get the Chancellor."

A pause ensured in which I simultaneously hoped that he would comply with my directive and that he wouldn't. Then, I could sense his jaw setting for debate again. "Now without you," he maintained staunchly.

I exhaled softly. No, he hadn't chosen my life over the Chancellor's per say. Rather, he had, in his view, elected to save us both. Due to his astonishing powers, he still harbored under the delusion that he could defy death and manipulate whom it took into its icy, eternal embrace and whom it didn't.

"They're shutting down the controls," I educated him, wishing that he would realize that the situation was hopeless. No matter what he did, I was going to perish, and I wasn't going to permit him to accompany me on my final journey.

There was another brief silence, which allowed me the unenviable opportunity to take inventory of my woeful position. R-4 had already been dispatched by the malicious buzz droids, which meant that it could no longer be relied upon to mend anything. That was a dismaying fact, considering I could use its repairs, for without my controls, which were being shut down, my ship might very well go hurtling off through space like a deranged comet without the blazing tail. Even if my life support system was not shut off, I would probably not be discovered before my oxygen depleted, and the buzz droids would not stop at ruining the controls.

No, being obsessed with their jobs, they would attack my life support systems with vigor next. All this meant that I was a dead sitting diki bird and the sooner Anakin Skywalker got this hammered into his stubborn skull the better it would be for the both of us.

As usual, though, Anakin had contradictory notions spiraling about in his head at one hundred kilometers an hour. That explained why he aimed a shot at my ship that vaporized several buzz droids…and part of my left wing. Was he trying to make a horrible situation even worse? Even if he wasn't, he was doing a fine imitation of it.

"That's not helping," I remarked tersely before he could dismantle my intact wing.

"I agree, it was a bad idea," he confessed. There was a second's quiet in which I could almost hear my companion's mind grinding as he labored to devise a solution to this problem, then he continued with far less sheepishness and far more authority, "Swing right. Steady…" As he trailed off mid-sentence, he moved his vessel closer to mine and closer still…

"Wait," I stated once I discerned the peril. Think for a moment, I added inwardly, at the present more terrified of what he was doing than the damage the diligent buzz droids were inflicting upon my poor, battered craft. "You're going to get us both killed!" And if he did that, I would find a method by which to murder him again if there really was any sort of afterlife.

In typical Anakin Skywalker conduct, he ignored me, dipping ever nearer in what appeared to my mortified eyes to be slow motion, until his wing scraped away almost all of my buzz droids. As I had expected, though, the movement dented both crafts, and the last buzz droids transferred over to his ship, which indicated that if my old apprentice ever found spare time to visit a mind reader, they wouldn't even bother charging and not just because he was a legend.

Now the sentient I cared about most in the entire galaxy was going to perish as well, I observed, much depressed, as I heard R-2 beep irately over the comm unit as it noticed the interloper.

"Get him, Artoo!" Anakin shouted the incitement, as his astomech, suggesting that when my former Padawan claimed he wanted to modify his astromech it wasn't always merely a guise to communicate secretly with a certain charming Senator from Naboo, extended a blade from his body and began fencing with the intruding buzz droid. An instant later, there was a clang as the droid slid off Anakin's wing and into the vacuum of space.

For a second, I savored their victory. Then, I recognized that my controls were officially gone. "Blast it," I exclaimed as I had this devastating epiphany, "my controls are gone."

Now I was nothing more than target practice for hostile vulture droids. Ah, well, even though my ship was now nothing more than scrap metal floating around, at least I wasn't completely without utility yet. After all, it would be a shame to have no purpose whatsoever in life.

"Just stay on my wing," directed Anakin. "General Grievous' command ship is straight ahead."

As I obeyed, not seeing any other better alternative, the smoke in front of my fighter started to clear, and I spotted that we were so ominously close to the command ship of the Separatist fleet that I could have licked extra oil off the armored walls.

"Whoa! Anakin, we're going to collide," I established, trying and most likely failing in this venture, not to sound as panicked as I felt.

"That's the plan." I could hear Anakin's smile over the comm system as easily as a mathematician could read an elementary pie chart. "Head for the hangar."

"Have you noticed the shields are up?" I inquired with all the composure I could muster as the pride of the Separatist armada, tinged cerulean with the glow of the force field protecting it, loomed massively in front of us.

"Sorry, Master." His apology was an obvious negative, and I groaned as he zipped ahead to zap the shield generator before my rapidly disintegrating craft could smack into it. Less than a minute later, our two vessels streamed through the docking bay doors to the command ship, and I noted, flabbergasted, that despite the galling, impossible odds, Anakin had managed to rescue me from my imminent demise.

Well, I had always known that he would never abandon me. After all, we were more than just former Master and apprentice, although that bond was, for practically all Jedi, an intense one. We were even more than like parent and child, as many Masters and Padawans were. We were even more than friends as Qui-Gon and I had been at the end of my apprenticeship―even more than best friends. No, we were brothers. I was the responsible, serious elder sibling, quick to advise, and Anakin was the bold, dashing younger one, always so eager to prove his value.

And students and teachers could forget each other and drift apart over years of separation. Parents could abuse and neglect their offspring. Friends could betray each other. Yet, through it all, brothers remained constant. Brothers could quarrel, say things and do things to one another that nobody else could do, and they would still forgive each other, because, no matter what, they stayed brothers, and brothers never abandoned each other. The rest of the universe could crumble, but that connection would stand, since it was preferable to die alongside a brother than to live alone, and both Anakin and I knew this stark fact.

Now we just had to find the Chancellor and escape with him. For us, that was a slab of sweet quintberry cake, especially compared to what we had already endured to board this vessel, I strove to comfort myself as blast doors slammed shut in our wake and my ship crashed at the far end of the hangar.

As Anakin landed with a bang as well, Trade Federation battle droids rushed into the scene from all directions. Well, if there was no pain, there was no gain. Besides, I could benefit from some lightsaber practice. My reflexes were getting much too slow lately, as Anakin would be glad to taunt me about, because brothers existed to poke fun at one another.


	3. Chapter 3

Showdowns

After my starfighter skidded across the hangar floor, I ignited my lightsaber and swiftly seared a hole in the roof of my cockpit. Seconds after I had leapt out of my makeshift emergency exit, the crippled ship exploded. Force, there had been a lot of combustion occurring on this day, and yet I sensed that my experiences with conflagrations were not quite over yet. In fact, the supernatural entity that tied all life together seemed to be whispering to me that the trouble was only just commencing, something that only reinforced my hunch that the Force had a perverse sense of humor and had created sentients for the entertainment value of watching us suffer. The universe was indeed controlled by an omnipotent sadist, I suspected.

However, this idea was erased from my mind as the battle droids fired at me, as I landed on the floor. Slipping into my dueling mode, I sent the hailstorm of bolts back at the droids, while I felt more than spotted Anakin hop out of the flames of his smoking vessel and race over to fight alongside me.

Nowadays, this was an elementary task for us― comparable to asking a Nebula Award winning holobook author to scribble down a simple three-word sentence. We had been dispatching droids like these basic, milliseconds-away-from-being-spare-parts Federation ones since the outset of the Clone Wars, and we had melded our techniques so they flowed together practically seamlessly.

We knew instinctively, as if our brain had broadcast it to our nerves without us having to glance over at one another, exactly where our friend was and where he would be moving. We recognized without having to think about it when one of us required assistance, and when to hang back and let the other pursue their assault. We had truly mastered the knack of merging with each other's strengths and covering each other's vulnerabilities. That was part of the reason why so many perceived as the ultimate team.

The other factor that rendered as such a powerful twosome was how effectively we complemented each other. Where I was the strategist, Anakin was the dash. Where I set him up, he lunged in with his characteristic combination of grace and untamed ferocity. Where I maneuvered our metallic foes, he struck with devastating accuracy.

In all honesty, our alloy adversaries had started the confrontation with about as much chance of emerging the victor as a snowball did in a nova, and we disposed of them within ten minutes. When the last battle droids toppled to the docking bay floor with a clatter, I deactivated my blade while Anakin did the same, beckoning R-2 toward him. Toodling, R-2 rolled toward him, as he ordered, "Tap into the ship's computers."

With a beep of acknowledgement, R-2 pivoted and sped across the cavernous chamber to a wall socket, where it cracked into the warship's computer system and searched the security holocams for images of the Chancellor. Within seconds, it had pinpointed the Chancellor's location as the sumptuous general's quarters at the peak of the craft's towering spire.

While this news didn't surprise me since this was probably the most difficult place on the whole ship to affect an entry into, thereby making it challenging to succeed in a rescue mission such as this one, Anakin frowned suspiciously, his forehead beetling. "I sense Count Dooku."

Yet again, this was a statement that did not present me with much of a risk of going into cardiac arrest, since Count Dooku was the mastermind behind the Separatists military tactics, even if General Grevious relished the bloody chore of placing Dooku's theory into practice by slaughtering civilians and destroying scores of planets. Therefore, it was only natural that the Separatists would want their best tactician on board to directly manage the kidnapping of the Supreme Chancellor so that it would not be botched up, as abductions of heads of state were rarely able to be repeated.

"I sense a trap," I added. This, too, was not much of a shock. After all, Dooku delighted in planting hundreds of snares for the unwary to tumble into and suffer an agonizing end, a fact that was plainly illustrated in the shimmersilk web he had woven to entangle an entire galaxy by twisting the desires of politicians, merchants, and dissatisfied factions on planets throughout the fringes of the Republic into a coalition dedicated to crushing the Republic, so that he could step back and watch the inhabitants of the galaxy murder each other until everything was in ruins and there was nothing left to do battle for anyhow.

Ambushes were Dooku's signature move, and they would betray him now, because Anakin and I could manipulate his tendencies to our advantage. We could string him along, leading him to believe that we were slipping into his trap. Then, we could suddenly turn around when he least anticipated it, defeat him, and rescue the Chancellor Palpatine. Still, it was best not to get complacent. It would require a lot of skill to outwit the Count, which was a feat a lot easier to yammer on about doing than to achieve. Of course, that's what Anakin and I were good at, accomplishing things others could only speak about achieving.

"Next move?" inquired Anakin, glancing questioningly at me. Even though he was a Jedi Knight himself now, he still tended to rely on me to devise the overall strategy to be implemented, because he was still incapable of thinking in the long term, being forever preoccupied with the present. This meant that he could not always foresee the consequences of his reactions, which explained why he insisted on pulling stunts like the one that had saved my life from the buzz droids not so long ago.

However, I was pretty sure that even he could have concocted the plan that I had invented, as it was one of our favorite, most tried and true methods. There was nothing wrong with that, though, for there was no need to reinvent the hyperdrive when it worked fine.

"Spring the trap." I smiled slightly at him, and he nodded and grinned in reply.

Then, we sprinted out of the hangar and through the labyrinth of corridors that comprised the massive vessel. Several times in the course of our jogging journey, a squadron of battle droids would stumble upon us, but they were no match for us, and we dispatched them without anything that could be termed as even approaching difficulty. No doubt that would change when we arrived at the general's chambers where the Chancellor was held captive.

Our first spot of real trouble came in the turbolift to the general's quarters, when, apparently, General Grievous ordered one of his adjuncts to switch off the power on us. I was plotting a manner by which to restart the turbolift when Anakin, after a moment's hesitation in which he determined that he could detect no obvious breach in the wall defaulted to smashing through it in his typical fashion. In this case, that involved employing his lightsaber to slice through the top of the turbolift.

Once we had escaped from the turbolift glitch, Anakin and I arrived across the hallway from the rooms in which the Chancellor was entrapped. Hiding behind a wall to conceal myself from any droids that might be lurking, I peeked around the corner and saw none of the automata present. Even though there were no droids there to attempt to blast our heads off, I couldn't relax. In fact, not seeing any droids increased the tension that I felt, because I knew that the Chancellor would not be unguarded by our opponents, which meant that our foes believed that whatever awaited the two of us in the general's quarters was awful enough to dispatch us.

Well, whatever it was, Anakin and I could deal with it. We were the ultimate partnership. When we worked together to accomplish a common objective, there was nothing we couldn't achieve, and anyone who had the brains necessary to access the Holonet was aware of that basic fact.

Still, I wished that I didn't feel that particular essence in the Force. To be honest, I could have lived the rest of my life without encountering the Count Dooku of Serenno again. If he was there, as I suspected, then Anakin and I would be embroiled in another duel with him, and I wasn't positive that we could win it, after all, no matter what bravado had filled my thoughts a second ago. Last time we had confronted the Count, we hadn't fared so well―but, then again, we weren't the same men that we had been on Geonosis. Both of us were harder, faster, and stronger than we had been three years ago, and I didn't mean just physically. I meant emotionally and intellectually as well. Besides, there were two of us, which gave us a numerical advantage, and we functioned as a faultless team. Even as talented a swordsman as the Count could be overcome by Anakin and me when we worked in tandem.

"He's close," I murmured to my companion, as such notions raced about inside my head.

"The Chancellor?" he asked.

Well, yes, him, but someone else, too. "Count Dooku," I responded tersely.

"I know." Anakin's left hand slipped over to unconsciously stroke his right metallic lower arm where he had his natural limb severed off him by the Count Dooku during the struggle on Geonosis. An odd expression of mingled excitement and dread crossed over his features before his battle mask settled back into place. "I can sense it, too."

Of course he could. His prosthetic arm appeared to serve as an alarm system whenever the Count was in the area, which was just another reason why I surmised that he would come to regret chopping off Anakin's lower arm three years ago.

Cautiously, we snuck across the corridor and into the general's quarters. Once we entered, we realized that the main room was spacious, but vacant save for a black cobweb chair at the far end of the chamber. Strapped into the seat with bindings that resembled those a psychotic and malignant medic would employ to tie an unwilling patient to a surgery bed for a dissection, was the Supreme Chancellor.

Apparently, the Separatists had not tortured him yet, because he did not look any sicklier than usual. Yes, he was as pale as an Arkanian's eyes, but he had always been a bloodless man with unnaturally white skin that, when combined with the sagging flesh in his lean face, combined to make him appear cadaverous, as if he were a corpse that was still roaming around even while it was being gobbled up by organisms that survived off detritus. All in all, it was safe to conclude that he was a politician who had not gotten where he was today based on his handsomeness, since he was as far roomed from that quality as the vagrants that scavenged in the Blackpit Slums were distinct from the gentry.

"Are you all right?" demanded Anakin anxiously of him as he hurried across the room to liberate the man from the shackles that bound him to the chair. It was obvious that his concern wasn't for what would happen to the Republic if the gentleman he addressed was killed by the Separatists or kept captive by them. No, his fear was all for the indulgent, beaming, and always encouraging uncle he would lose.

"Anakin," the Chancellor breathed, his too understated manner causing the hairs on the back of my neck to rise as always, "droids." As he established as much, he flicked his fingers in a small gesture which was apparently all he could manage with the energy cuffs restraining him.

As one unit, Anakin and I pivoted. The sight that greeted us was not in the top hundred of my existence, since the Separatists, playing their role as hosts exceptionally well, had welcomed us with all the warmth of a winter day on Hoth. Four super battle droids had marched into the room after us.

"Don't worry, Chancellor," Anakin reassured him, because the head of the Republic looked as if he had either just spotted a ghost or just joined their ranks. Clearly, we would have to end this confrontation as soon as possible before he died of a heart attack, rendering this whole rescue mission futile. "Droids are not a problem."

Yes, I agreed mentally, super battle droids weren't really an issue for either of us now. We knew how to defeat them practically in our sleep by now, and I would be aware of the veracity of this statement since I had planetfulls of dreams about doing so. However, my former Padawan would do well not to get cocky, as there was still the charismatic Count to contend with, and our victory in that confrontation was far from being a given, just as it was far from being a given that legislators would be honorable.

Before I could complete this inner comment, my eyes were drawn upward to a balcony that spanned the chamber. Towering, aloof, elegant, and graceful, Count Dooku had strode onto the veranda with his typical hauteur, his face covered with the same faintly amused smirk that had covered it when he had tormented me on Geonosis. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Only Anakin and I hadn't remained the same, unlike the Count. We had improved, and he would be taken aback by that, or so I hoped.

"This time, we do it together," I muttered to my best friend, recalling in astonishing detail his manic assault on the Count on Geonosis and what an awesome success it had been.

"I was about to say that," he confirmed, nodding seriously, and I was struck yet again by how much he had grown since the start of the conflict with the Separatists. Whereas he used to be convinced that he could achieve anything by himself, he now admitted that he could benefit from some assistance. However, I wouldn't flatter myself with the idea that it had been me who had taught him this. No, life―and the carnage of interstellar warfare― had provided him with this bleak instruction. Perhaps one day I really would have to cease trying to impart my vast stores of wisdom on his reluctant mind. Oh, who was I kidding? Teaching Anakin Skywalker was my reason to be. All those years of my life before I had met him were just preparation so I would be ready to train him.

As I observed as much to myself, I shifted my center of balance out of a habit programmed into me over the years of constant battle, waiting for the next move in the fight, as Anakin adopted his pre-battle stance as well.

"Get help!" Palpatine squelched down his frailty long enough to make this urgent shout from the seat behind us. "You're no match for him. He's a Sith Lord."

Thank you, Captain Obvious, and feel free to pay your brain bill as soon as possible. Honestly, it was plain to everyone whose parents weren't siblings that Count Dooku was a Sith Lord, and, therefore, someone who could deliver death to unwary and wary beings alike in nine thousand different fashions. Yet, where in all the neighboring galaxies were we supposed to procure reinforcements from?

The clones were too busy being blown up in the space battle to support us at the moment, and the nearest Jedi were on Coruscant, and we couldn't wait for them to arrive. No, we had to confront the Count now. Otherwise, this mission would be a dismal failure, and both Anakin and I were determined to succeed as much as humanly possible.

Yes, the Chancellor should stick to his area of expertise of maintaining himself in power far longer than the Constitution, which he was skilled at bending, technically permitted, and allow us to go about our business of beating the Separatists, because we were reasonably gifted at it. After all, the Council had selected the pair of us for this task because of our high triumphs to defeats ratio, and just because the Chancellor was legally the commander-in-chief of our armed forces that did not mean that he was automatically a brilliant strategist. In fact, I suspected that what he understood about tactics in war could fit in a teaspoon without being in peril of overflowing.

"Our specialty is Sith Lords, Chancellor," I informed him, striving to offer a respectful, rather than condescending, smile at him. That was not even really a lie. In every story, it was always the Jedi who tangled with the Sith. Furthermore, Anakin and I had both beaten Ventress, and, as much as it pained me to recall that final battle on Naboo where my Master had been killed, I had dispatched a Sith in Theed, as well. Given that not many other people in the galaxy had survived such confrontations, we were the most qualified beings in the Republic to duel with Count Dooku, although that, admittedly, wasn't much of a compliment.

Then, before the Chancellor could respond, I turned away from him, igniting my blade, as Anakin did the same and Count Dooku sailed over the balustrade, somehow managing to maintain his dignity as he did so, and alighted on the ground before us without a sound as if he had no more mass than a diki feather.

"Your lightsabers, please, Master Jedi," he ordered with a languid scorn, holding out his hand to relieve us of the burden of our weapons. His eyes, as unfeeling and cold as black holes, were contemptuous as they raked over us, and the Dark Side swelled around him, testifying quite eloquently that it had devoured him and his soul long ago. "Let's not make a mess of this in front of the Chancellor."

But he's a bloodthirsty politician, and they relish the experience of gazing at another's innards, I remarked to myself, as ignoring his directive as most sentients did yellow traffic signals, Anakin and I closed in around him like malia, the predatory felines of Ragoon-6, when they had tracked their prey to a clearing and were about to pounce with fatal accuracy.

While Dooku's hand drifted down to his waist to unclip his own lightsaber, we lurched forward only to be greeted with a mocking sneer as our weapons clashed in what under other circumstances might have been a lovely amalgamation of bars of illumination. "Don't assume that because there are two of you, you have the advantage," he admonished, as if we were his pupils, instead of his enemies.

That was how he distracted people. He riled them up by treating them as though they were his inferiors as opposed to his equals so that they would become infuriated enough to do foolish things. The trick was to maintain composure. If you could maintain your calm, you could vanquish the Count. A loss of control was the equivalent to a surrender of power― and of the battle. I wished I could explain that to Anakin, but there was no time. I would just have to hope that he would remain calm and not give in to his temper.

The conflict wore on, and, as it continued, I was compelled to recall why exactly Count Dooku deserved his reputation as a master of the ancient style of lightsaber combat. Even with Anakin and me pressing him, he seemed as bored as if he were watching a particularly vapid holodrama in his living room on a sofa.

My best friend and I utilized every trick we had at our disposal, and we had mountains of them because we had been fighting in battles almost non-stop for three years, and before that our lives had not exactly consisted of reading the comics and surfing the Holonet. Yet, no matter what we tried, whether it was a false retreat, a feint, or springing upon him from unexpected angles, the Count anticipated our maneuvers and deflected them with a derisive snort.

At least he's not having any more luck striking us than we are of hitting him, I consoled myself, figuring that one ought to keep one's morale as high as possible when engaged in a duel to the death. That was a noteworthy improvement over last time, at any rate, and you had to accept what little gains you could get in this universe.

Apparently, similar notions were chasing each other around Anakin's brain, for in a lull between ferocious exchanges of attacks and parries, he offered Dooku a chilling, almost feral grin that I had never glimpsed on his features before and didn't like the sight of, declaring, "My powers have doubled since we last met, Count."

Be careful, Anakin, I implored mentally. Do not taunt him. If your remarks hit their target, they'll anger him, and wrath was the fuel that propelled the Dark Side, and, frankly, we don't need the Count to be any more powerful than he already is.

"Good," the Count asserted placidly, his lips twisting in a leer. "Twice the pride, double the fall. I have looked forward to this, Skywalker."

This statement spurred my former apprentice forward, and, seeing the Count falter for the first time under the fierceness of his assault, I lurched forward to help him and exploit our adversary's vulnerability. Thus, despite the Count's smugness, the two of us forced him slowly but steadily backward.

When the squad of super battle droids got in our way, we mowed them down instinctively without pausing for the deadly millisecond that thought about the next movement required. Right now, we were all dumb machines in the cog of battle, no matter what side we were on.

Not long after that, or so it seemed in the timeless haze of a duel, we reached the first stair up to the veranda. As the Count stepped onto the first stair, I disengaged from the fray briefly and leaped onto the second step to assail him from his flank. Now, he was trapped between Anakin's merciless, chopping blade and mine, and even he could not fight on two separate fronts by himself at the same time…

Unfortunately, caged beasts are the most dangerous ones in the universe, and I had forgotten this important statistic for one foolish moment. As was to be expected, the Count took advantage of the opportunity to remind me of the unrivaled perils posed by an imprisoned beast when he half-spun to confront me and lifted a palm.

Before this could even register as a threat on my mental radar screen, a tsunami of power as dark as the most obsidian night imaginable washed over me and overwhelmed my feeble, astonished defensive bulwarks. Then, before I could comprehend what was occurring, I found myself lifted off my feet as if I weighed as much as a flimsy holosheet as the air was squeezed out of my lungs.

Force, I had never appreciated how blessed every atom of oxygen I breathed in was. I had never noticed how great it was to be able to fill my lungs with air and then expel it again. Truly, respiration was a miracle, and life without oxygen was really very challenging.

Fog engulfed my vision no matter how much I struggled against it. My brain dulled. Exhaustion conquered every cell of my body. My muscles were transformed into poodoo, and I could not, even when I screamed at myself to rise and do something―anything― to aid my comrade as Dooku twisted and kicked savagely at Anakin with all his might, and Anakin toppled over the railing, move so much as a pinky finger. I was as useful as flapping your arms was when you were trying to reach lightspeed.

There was another surge in the Dark Side as Dooku drew on his connection to the Force to shove me to the floor. As I landed, stunned, my back aching and my spine threatening to splinter into a hundred fragments, I groaned as I saw a massive chunk of the terrace the size of asteroid hurtled by the Count toward me. Yet, even as I spotted the imminent danger, I could not muster the intensive reserves of strength it demanded to roll out of the missile's way, and so I remained where I was until I felt something gigantic ram onto me.

It smashed into my skull, and the metallic taste of blood that I was all too familiar with flooded my mouth as the stench of it deluged my nostrils for a second. I was officially out of commission for the rest of this mayhem with the Count, and it was all up to Anakin now. Then, it all was forgotten as I surrendered to the almighty fog that clouded my mind and my eyes. Now, I could taste, smell, see, and think nothing. I was in a realm of blissful ignorance, irresponsibility, and oblivion. Having your head bashed was even better, I suspected, then getting intoxicated or altering one's brain with illegal spice or hookah.


	4. Chapter 4

Bottomless Pit

If anyone asked me while I was conscious whether I believed in ghosts, I would have replied with a definitive "no." After all, although I devoted my entire existence to the service of an invisible entity only a select few could sense at all, I was at heart a rather pragmatic being. However, when I was unconscious I could almost bring myself to accept the idea of ghosts and other supernatural individuals, because every time I lost conscious, I was abruptly thrust into a different, timeless galaxy that seemed to perpetuate itself parallel to ours and appeared to constitute a peculiar middle ground between awareness and apathy, slumber and awakeness, and life and death.

On that battleship after the combat with Dooku, I did not know how long I was suspended in that odd netherworld between the diametric states of sentients. As far as I could judge, it could have been seconds, minutes, or hours, and, at the present, how much time had elapsed since I had descended into this unique realm was inconsequential.

When I was finally aroused, it was a jab that did it. On a whole, I suspected that was an auspicious omen, since, chances were, it was Anakin trying to restore me to consciousness. That was a rational assumption, because Count Dooku would not have bothered to awaken me before delivering the fatal blow. Now that he had defeated me, he would have no compunction about lunging in for the kill.

Another jolt raced through my body, and, reluctantly, I opened my eyes to commence the arduous return voyage to the realm of the alert, awake, and alive. As soon as I slit open my eyes, I wished fervently that I had remained in the ignorant oblivion as the vision that greeted my return to consciousness was about as close to reassuring as two kilometer high superskytowers on Coruscant were to the surface of the planet. Really, my poor heart was getting too old for the much-too-frequent assaults of deadly shocks that plagued my existence.

When I took reconnaissance of my surroundings, I saw a distorted Chancellor Palpatine reaching down toward me past some sort of holoscreen. Beyond that, there was only a black abyss. Apparently, I was hovering over a massive pit. Spectacular. How exactly had I gotten here, anyway? Not that it really amounted to much since escaping this dilemma in only a few more pieces than I was currently in was my present goal. If I could survive this, I would be as content as a Hutt in a new cesspit not to understand completely how I had arrived in these pulse-rising environs.

Striving to gain a more clear picture of where exactly I was in relation to the rest of the universe, I blinked. The movement granted me a new perspective on my whereabouts. Now I comprehended that the Chancellor was not groping down toward me. Rather, he was actually beneath me, clinging desperately onto some object below me, and the blackness I had glimpsed earlier was in reality a darkened shaft― possibly a turbolift one.

"Have I missed something?" I inquired, still dazed and uncertain whether my conclusions were anymore accurate than those of the mad scientist last year who had determined that oxygen did not exist. Right now, I really desired a kiosk dispensing a "You are Here" map for clueless beings such as myself. Alas, though, I surmised that we were still aboard a military vessel, not a luxury cruise, and, therefore, such information stands would be nowhere to be found.

"Hang on," grunted a voice that sounded like a muffled variation of Anakin's. "We're in a bit of a situation."

Ah, everything was starting to fall into place in the holopuzzle, then, I decided as enlightenment struck me. The thing digging into my stomach was my best friend's shoulder, as I appeared to be slung over his back like the survival packs clone commandos donned for missions into hostile territory, and the Supreme Chancellor was grasping Anakin's ankle. That had to be painful for my former apprentice, but I supposed that the Republic's head of state didn't have many options at the moment― considering we were all holding onto the ledge of a turbolift shaft for dear life, since if we relinquished our grip, we would plunge to our imminent dooms. Well, Anakin might refer to this as a situation, but I would term it as a karking crisis, although I admit I might have been exaggerating slightly.

"Hello, Chancellor," I stated pleasantly, deciding that my panicking would do nothing to resolve the disaster, and, in all probability, would worsen it. "Are you well?"

"I hope so." As he established as much in a shaky manner, Palpatine glanced down at the emptiness below all of us. Wincing, I wished that I had thought to caution him not to look down previously.

Gazing down at the void below you never did a whit of good. Instead, it hurt by driving home just how far you were from the stable ground, which prompted you to realize how likely it was that you would perish if you should happen to lose your hold and go tumbling through the air.

Of course, it probably would have been no help if I had advised him against glancing down, as most sentients would immediately check beneath them as soon as somebody instructed them not to, ironically enough. Perhaps I should have urged him to look down. Reverse psychology could achieve miracles, after all.

"Where's Count Dooku?" I demanded of Anakin.

"Dead," he informed me curtly, confirming my hypothesis, because, if Dooku was alive, Anakin, who obviously had won the battle, would have taken him hostage, so we could use him to coerce the Confederacy into a surrender, just as they had been planning to employ the Chancellor as leverage against us. It was great that the strategist of the Separatists was dispatched of, since that would make winning the war all the easier. Still…

"Pity," I remarked, completing the notion aloud. "Alive, he could have been a help to us."

"The ship's breaking up," Anakin updated me snappishly, and I grimaced― this affair was going from catastrophic to apocalyptic in record time. His tone implying that he would be delighted if we never mentioned the topic again, he added, "Could we discuss this later?"

Obviously, the stress of this living nightmare was impacting him, too, and I clamped my mouth shut. He didn't need to be bothered right now, especially not after he had disposed of the brains behind the Separatists and rescued my sorrow self again. If we survived this heart-pounding mission, I would remind him that I didn't mean to be critical, but it was just what I did best. I was a stickler and a nitpicker, and, thus, it was in my nature to poke holes in everyone, even my buddies. I was really a very disagreeable person on a whole, I ruminated as I stared glumly down at the seemingly infinite pit, aiming vainly to devise a scheme to extricate us from this plight.

Then, as I mused about this problem, gravity abruptly altered on us, and, suddenly, we were all poised over a steep slope of which I refused to estimate the degree of the tilt. Barely a second later, much to my bowel-straining terror, a chuck-thump resounded from overhead. Reflexively, I craned my neck backwards and beheld something massive plummeting toward us.

"What's that?" I asked, somewhat rhetorically because I was ninety-five percent sure it was the shape of onrushing turbolift, coming to crash our party quite literally.

"The turbolift," Anakin educated me, all grimness. "I asked Artoo to activate it."

"Oh." That was all I managed to choke out, but my lack of articulation was not an issue, since, by the appearance of things, neither of my companions were paying me any more mind than they would a broken tetrawave in a garbage compressor. While Anakin hollered frantically into his comlink, ordering R2-D2 to switch off the turbolift whose shaft we were currently inside, Palpatine looked as if he were about to faint, his face even paler than usual.

Yet, despite my former Padawan's best efforts to rouse R2 on the comlink, I suspected that he would be unsuccessful in this venture, and the turbolift was shooting ever closer to us. We would have to let go, trust in gravity, and hope that the shaft didn't end too soon, or we would be smashed like insects on the windshield of a landspeeder when the turbolift hit the bottom of the shaft.

"Too late," I screamed. "Jump!"

Apparently, nobody had any better proposals, so we all leapt. The next thing I knew, we were all plummeting through the abyss. Occasionally, a flicker of florescent lighting would penetrate the darkness as we streamed past a floor. As we whizzed down into the pit, we could hear the turbolift clamoring along in our wake.

We had sped past several levels when we rammed into the wall of the shaft. Bewildered, I pondered what had transpired as we glided along its smooth length narrowly ahead of the rapidly advancing turbolift. The gravity, it seemed, was starting to malfunction as the craft we were on disintegrated. Wonderful. We were as roasted as pinali nuts over a roaring fire, only we had the disadvantage of being alive during our burning because the Force undeniably loved us the best. After all, it only put its favorites through the worst sorts of tribulations. Everyone else got to live an easy existence.

The fickle gravity on the ship persisted in shifting until the shaft was horizontal. Although our speed slowed to a skidding halt as the slope we were descending leveled off, the turbolift, relying on electricity rather than gravity, didn't pause. As the clones would declare, this situation was "ten percent," or the lowest anything, save death, which by comparison was actually beginning to look desirable, itself could be.

"Stop the turbolift, Artoo!" yelled Anakin wildly into his comlink as he, the Chancellor, and I all scrambled to our feet once our sliding came to an end due to the almighty powers of friction.

Luckily, R2 must have heard him this time, because the turbolift ceased its descent. Unfortunately, though, I barely had the opportunity to suck in a relieved lungful of oxygen when, with a chilling grinding noise that caused liquid nitrogen to ripple through my veins, the turolift started up again. Obviously, the gears and the control wires on this ship were going haywire as well, I observed in the rear of my mind as my comrades and I dashed down the shaft, struggling to remain ahead of the rogue turbolift.

Then, for reasons comprehensible to its defective machinery, the turbolift increased its speed. As I compelled my legs to churn faster, drawing on reserves of energy and endurance I had never been cognizant of possessing until now, I watched out of the corner of my eye Anakin shout something― I couldn't discern what in the din― to his erstwhile astromech via his comlink.

I hardly had time to wonder what Anakin's commands to his droid had been, because at that instant Palpatine stumbled. Reflexively, as I didn't want him to be plowed over by a turbolift on my watch no matter what I daydreamed about him being run over by a speeder bike the rest of the time, I caught his slender wrist, steadied him, and propelled him forward.

There was no way that Palpatine, who spent a vast majority of his life at a desk, could maintain this punishing pace much longer, and, anyway, this benighted shaft would not last forever. As such, fleeing from the renegade turbolift was a very temporary solution to a problem the diameter of Alderaan.

Come on, Anakin, I implored mentally, unwilling to waste the valuable breath it required to speak, you're the mechanical genius. Come up with something or the rest of our lives will last possibly ten more minutes, and being rolled over by a deranged turbolift wasn't exactly how I had dreamed of going, not that I'd contemplated the depressing issue overmuch.

Suddenly, to my weary jubilation, all the doors along the shaft flew open, indicating that Anakin had been ordering his trusty astromech to slide them all open so we could escape the nightmare we were all ensnared in. Scarcely a meter in the lead of the rogue turbolift, my best friend, the Supreme Chancellor, and I fell through the nearest opened panel into the corridor below.

Then, we crumbled against the wall, laboring to catch our breaths after our strenuous exertions. Well, there was nothing like a brisk jog to wipe the cobwebs from one's head, I noted wryly to myself as my throbbing heart began to slow its pumping down a notch as my respiration rate declined a tad.

I had determined, however, that I would never ride in a turbolift again in my life. Even on Coruscant, I would climb the stairs to reach floor four-hundred-ninety-seventh level. A little exercise was very beneficial for the middle-aged. Right, I snorted inwardly a nanosecond later. That resolution would last as long as the nine thousand ones I had made about never permitting Anakin Skywalker into a cockpit again.

Ultimately, as a practical human, I had to concede that an amazing pilot had to be allowed to soar and turbolifts were loads more efficient for being transported long distances vertically than stairwells were.

By this time, I had regained enough energy to straighten up. As I did so, I commented to the others, "Let's see if we can find something in the hangar that's still flyable. Come on."

For some reason, it was only as I started my journey down the hallway that it dawned on me that, miraculously, the gravity was working perfectly normally in this segment of the vessel, for the halls were all nice and horizontal just as they were supposed to be. Truly, life was wonderful when the rules were abided by, and gravity didn't elect to act uppity by going in the opposite direction it was intended to.

Of course, it had been arrogant of sentients to presume to infringe on nature's domain by inventing artificial gravity, anyhow, I added judiciously. Yes, I definitely could devise numerous puns about pride going before a fall on that topic I decided as we rounded a bend and a jet of cerulean particles sprang up in front of us, blocking our pathway as effectively as a barricade of duracrete.

It was a ray field, or an amalgamation of ions with enough charge in them to stun or kill a body depending on the voltage it was set to, and, out of habit, I stopped short as Anakin did the same. Afraid that Palpatine would not have the instincts to halt in time, I raised my arms to prevent him from barreling into the potentially lethal rays, as more ray fields materialized behind us and on either side of us, trapping us like a pack of akk dogs would prey.

"How did this happen?" I grumbled, embarrassed that I could still make such amateurish errors at this stage in my career and frustrated with my own stupidity at the same time. I also admit to a twinge of pity for the Republic I protected because if it put so much faith in Anakin and me, and, clearly, we were the wrong people to trust, given that we had fallen for one of the most elementary tricks known to warring sentients. On the plus side, perhaps, we could earn fashionable silver medals for our sheer folly. "We're smarter than this." That's what the Holonet claims, and we all know that the Holonet never lies.

"Apparently not, Master. This is the oldest trap in the book." Looking approximately as chagrined as I felt, Anakin shook his head.

When I glared at him, convinced that then would have been an impeccable moment for him to pronounce flippantly that we weren't dumb and it was the rest of the galaxy that was idiotic, he shrugged and amended, plainly trying to place all the blame for this ignominious circumstance at my feet, "Well, you're the leader. I was distracted."

"Oh, so all of a sudden it's my fault?" I snorted, thinking that now was a fine time for him to follow my lead when he had never done so before in his life.

"You're the Master," he insisted. "I'm just a hero."

"I'm open to suggestions here," I stated before he could adopt his uneducated slave voice and add something to the effect of his living to serve and obey his "Mastah." I found that routine about as hilarious as I did Commander Cody's cannon fodder "us simple clones can't even count and we is happy to be dumb, yes, just churn us out and line us up in the shooting gallery because we don't feel a thing" impersonation, which was to say I deemed it as less amusing than that cliché jest about a Hutt dying and producing enough lube to keep all the Separatist droids operational for a month.

It touched the truth too closely to be humorous. Granted, comedy was undeveloped tragedy and tragedy was underdeveloped comedy, but I would stick to tragedy in both cases. Then, at least I wouldn't feel as if I was denying or making light of the horror of sentients imagining that they had the right to buy, sell, and possess others. I could be sarcastic about just about any subject, but never about that. It was too dreadful to even chuckle to keep from crying about.

Such notions were erased from my brain when Palpatine coughed and proposed as if it was as sensible as dining at a restaurant for supper, "Why don't we let them take us to General Grievous? Perhaps with Count Dooku's demise, we can negotiate our release."

Yes, and for an encore, we could walk on all the water on Kamino. With all due respect, did he or any of his aides bother to read any of the reports piling on his desk about this minor interstellar conflict termed by many as the Clone Wars?

Apparently not, because otherwise he would recognize that negotiate was not a word programmed into Grievous' vocabulary banks. Therefore, escaping from Dooku only to be captured by him was comparable to hopping out of a campfire into a scalding river of molten lava to avoid the heat.

After all, at least Dooku, comprehending the strategic value of hostages, might keep a prisoner alive long enough for him to escape or be rescued. With Grievous, however, one would be exterminated promptly, as the vicious droid general understood the concept of delayed gratification about as well as the average reek did.

Glancing over at Anakin, I beheld an expression of incredulity that mirrored my own.

"I say patience," hedged Anakin after a moment's hesitation. At that juncture, I reached the unassailable conclusion that gas inducing idiocy had been released by Separatists in this corridor, which explained why I had almost ran into a ray field, why Palpatine thought it was prudent to engage in negotiations with Grievous, and why my former Padawan harbored under the delusion that patience was a plan, rather than a virtue like determination.

"Patience?" I echoed, gawking at him. It was on the tip of my tongue to inquire who exactly he was and what he had done with my best friend. Impulsive Anakin Skywalker would no more advocate patience than Grievous would mercy. If anything, the fact that he would suggest patience revealed in how much bantha dropping we were. "That's a plan?" How about we just cut to the chase and lob off our own heads instead? We would save the enemy so much trouble if we did so, and minuscule acts of consideration like that might very well be the thing that ended the war in the long run.

"A couple of droids will be along in a few moments, and they'll release the ray field. Then, we'll wipe them out," he elaborated, obviously concocting this whole scheme as he went along. "Security patrols are always those skinny useless battle droids."

As if to illustrate this argument, a pair of droids marched toward us at that instant before I could respond.

"Hand over your weapons," asserted one of the droids in a monotone.

"See?" Anakin offered a smug smirk that had been his calling card ever since I had become acquainted with him thirteen long years ago when he had been a tenacious and excitable nine-year-old. "No problem."

Yet, fate did not deign to support his contention this time, perhaps as vengeance for his complacency, for, behind the battle droids, a large doorway swung open, revealing a line of destroyer droids. When I turned my head, I spotted more of them on the other side of the hallway. This statistic had barely imprinted itself into my numb mind before supper battle droids marched into position on the heels of the destroyers encircling us.

At this point, I shook my head in despair. The odds were too staked against us. Sure, Anakin and I might have been capable of dismantling such an overwhelming contingency of foes on our own, but their was no way that we could do so and defend the Chancellor simultaneously, given that we could each sadly only be in one location at a time. As I reflected morosely on the business of our situation, R2 sped onto the scene from an adjoining hall and screeched to a halt upon its arrival.

"Well, what's plan B?" I pressed Anakin over R2's screeching.

Swallowing, he cast his head back at the droids, at Chancellor Palpatine, and back at our alloy adversaries before confessing, "I think Chancellor Palpatine's suggestion sounds pretty good to me."

No, there had to be a better solution. Yet, if there was, I couldn't discover it.

Oh, this is definitely not shaping up to be a very great day, I grumbled mentally as I surrendered my lightsaber to a metallic opponent while Anakin performed the same action. Then, the droids paraded us toward General Grievous' bridge with us desperately striving to figure out a tactic with the droids restricting our communication to glances and the occasional mutter out of the corner of lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Defying Gravity

By the time we were escorted by the army of battle droids to the bridge from which General Grievous commanded his armada arrayed around Coruscant, Anakin and I had collaborated to devise a tactic that might, if fortune condescended to favor us for once, allow us to slink away from this misadventure with our lives and that of the Chancellor's.

When we were marched onto the bridge, and General Grievous had swung about to provide us with a warm reception that only he was capable of, I realized that, as usual, what everyone declared was as inaccurate as the reports Intel furnished. That is, beings of all descriptions and backgrounds from both spiral arms of the galaxy swore on their mother's honor that the loathsome Separatist general had no more emotions than a detonator. He had been born and reared on the war-ravaged planet of Kalee, where he had attained his experience in the art of waging remorseless battle after remorseless battle, and had risen to a military rank so exalted that he probably required an oxygen tank in order to breathe. In short, even before an airbus accident had injured him so severely that he had to become half-cybrog to survive, he had been a ruthless individual. Now, everybody insisted, he felt nothing whatsoever.

Yet, they were incorrect in this analysis. Glancing at Grievous as he scrutinized us, I recognized that there was at least one common sentiment shared by both man and machine: satisfaction. And Grievous was feeling very smug as he watched Anakin and I being shunted toward him, our wrists handcuffed in electobonds. In fact, I suspected that if the smooth metallic mask that functioned as his face had been capable of the expression, he would have beamed as one of his sentries offered him our weapons, and he accepted them, weighing them and stroking them like a mother would a newborn.

Then, after he had finished drooling over the latest edition to his collection of lightsabers from Jedi he had murdered, he eyed us menacingly, straightening to his full and considerable height. Doubtlessly, this technique was effective at getting most of his prisoners to scream hysterically and wet themselves, because he had to resort to taunting my best friend and me verbally when we remained impassive after his display of his towering stature. "That wasn't much of a rescue," he observed with all the acerbity a cybrog could muster.

Still, we refused to react to his caustic comment. Our mission hadn't failed yet, after all. Only when we were dead would it be over, and, if we had perished, nothing― even failure― would wound us anymore.

When his sarcasm did not perturb us, Grievous swept back his cape, revealing the assortment of lightsabers hanging in its lining. This time, it required a stronger exercise of Jedi discipline to control the flare of wrath that surged within me. It was one thing to know, intellectually, that an organism had killed dozens of Jedi in addition to slaughtering thousands of civilians, but it was another entirely to have evidence of such atrocities shoved in front of your nose. Nothing could prepare a body for beholding the souvenirs extracted from corpses that a sentient had scavenged to remind them of all the blood they had spilled― as if they could ever forget and as if it was something of which to be proud.

"I look forward to adding your lightsabers to my collection," he gloated, possibly detecting that he had poked a raw nerve. "Rare trophies, they are."

Yes, the handcrafted weapons of the Warrior of the Infinite and the Negotiator were very valuable commodities. Unfortunately, however, they were not on the market. Furthermore, even if they had been for sale, he would not have the credits necessary to acquire them.

"I think you've forgotten, Grievous," I corrected with a gentle smile. "I'm the one in control here."

I was completely aware that it appeared as though I had been inhaling far too much contaminated engine coolant recently because my comrades and I were all surrounded by a battalion of hostile droids, our hands bound with nobody to rescue us. Thus, any sane outsider would have been obliged to conclude that we had approximately the same odds of emerging from this ordeal alive as a stinkrat dud from a ravenous krayt dragon's lair.

However, such an observer would have forgotten to account for a wild card that my former Padawan and I both had stowed up our sleeves: the Force. If we employed it correctly, the Force might just save our sorry hides yet again. If we didn't, our skins would probably be recycled as a carpet in Grievous' quarters.

"So sure of yourself, Kenobi, but it's all over now," purred Grievous, advancing a fraction of a step toward us.

"Artoo, now!" commanded Anakin, and, suddenly, his astromech poured smoke out of its dome. Caught off-guard, Grievous whirled, and, as he pivoted, R2 yanked my weapon out of his grasp and sent it sailing through the air toward me with a victorious, self-congratulatory beep.

Thinking that the spunky astromech deserved a place in the Holonet articles to rival his owner's or mine by this point, I snatched my lightsaber, ignited it, and sheared through my shackles. Then, I liberated Anakin from his chains while R2 continued to assault the fearsome Separatist general who had terrorized so many systems. Within a momen, Anakin had Force-pulled his weapon out of Grievous' clutches.

Once his blade had been activated, we stood back-to-back in the classical Jedi defensive stance so that we could wage a two-front battle and so neither of us would be vulnerable to rear attacks, our lightsabers pinwheeling as we deflected laser fire from the battle droids whose sensory feedback had only just updated them on the explosive nature of the current situation.

While we did so, I watched out of the corner of my eye as R2 dragged down a super battle droids with deft twists of clingwire attachments. Undeniably, it had been a splendid day when Anakin had somehow managed to persuade Padme that trading R2 for the prim protocol, C-3P0, that he had created as a slave on Tatooine was an even exchange.

Leaving his droid magna-guards between him and the onslaughts of blaster bolts, Grievous retreated, noting that several of the Neimodians who navigated the vessel had been felled by parried bolts and not wishing to meet the same fate himself. As he edged away from the melee, I could discern over the chaos engulfing the bridge a Neimoidian pilot shouting to him, "Sir, we are falling out of orbit. All aft control cells are dead."

Wonderful, I groaned inwardly, longing to be outside this doomed craft so I could rejoice in its downfall, instead of mourning it. Through the mayhem, I heard Grievous snarl at the speaker, "Stay on course."

While he asserted as much, the Force, which the pressure of staying alive in this fray had attuned my to very closely― so much so that it seemed as though I wasn't myself, but rather a part of a timeless entity that had witnessed the birth of the universe and would endure long after it was gone― whispered a caution to me. The gravity-shifting virus had infected this part of the warship now, and its pull was going to alter right about― now.

As I made this calculation, the world spiraled around me as the ceiling abruptly became the floor while the floor was unceremoniously transfigured into the ceiling, and, along with most of the droids who had not magnetized themselves to the floor promptly enough, Anakin, the Chancellor, and I toppled down to what, a nanosecond ago had been the ceiling. However, owing to the alarm the Force had provided, I was able to right myself quickly, as was Anakin, who must have received a similar memo from the energy web that knotted the universe and everything it encompassed into one tapestry. We were even able to utilize the gravity-shift to our advantage to mow down a number of droids who had not adjusted to the change as rapidly as we had. It was a brutal galaxy, after all, and only the strongest and the fastest survived to further the machinations of evolution.

While Anakin and I slashed our way through the remaining droids, the last crewmember, a Neimoidian, displaying the tenacity the species was renowned for, whimpered, "The ship is breaking up." His final word was chopped off when a blaster bolt pierced through his chest.

Yes, it was indeed, and we probably didn't have much more time left before it crashed onto Coruscant in a hideous combustion that would most likely be the death of at least a thousand citizens. As I determined as much, the Force hissed another warning before gravity returned to normal, and those of us who had been fighting on the ceiling came dropping down to the floor with a bang. A few droids shattered upon landing, and my former Padawan and I decided that now it was time to pursue Grievous, instead.

Seeing us lurching after him, Grievous spun on his alloy heel and threw his electro-javelin upward. An instant later, it smacked into the viewport, cracking the transparisteel. Reflexively, we ducked the shards as we closed in on the cybrog general as he leapt up with all the power his mechanical legs could summon.

While he did so, the weakened viewport tumbled apart, and air gushed out of the breach. To my amazement, Grievous permitted himself to be sucked out of the control bridge into the vacuum of space along with all the droid fragments, slabs of machinery, and deceased crewmembers. My numb brain labored to absorb this revelation as Anakin, Palpatine, and I clung to a console to prevent ourselves from being swept into the void of space, where we would suffocate from lack of oxygen or be blown to smithereens by ally and enemy fire alike.

No such oxygen deprivation would harm Grievious, though, I realized as Anakin and I dispatched the final magna-guards that had been Grievous' pride and joy as much as anything could be. No doubt Grievous had managed to crawl down the side of the vessel until he arrived at an escape pod he could launch and flee from this mess in.

As alarms clanged frantically, increasing my blood pressure as a direct result of their anxiety, I started envying him, since I would not have minded leaving this crippled, crumbling vehicle behind either.

"The hull is burning up," announced Palpatine, his eyes expanding in horror as he gazed, slack-jawed, at a relatively intact datascreen that was hollering that statistic in massive, flashing scarlet letters in three languages.

"All the escape pods have been launched, " added Anakin grimly as we all clustered around the readouts and controls, seeking a spurious sense of solace in numbers and hoping to spot something uplifting on the consoles before us.

Releasing the escape pods had been Grievous' method of ensuring that we would be trapped on this ship when it went up in flames. The confrontation on the bridge had merely been to buy him time to implement his heartless strategy. Despite all our work and defeating near impossible odds, Anakin and I would fail. The Supreme Chancellor would die, and us along with him. The Republic would have been better off if we had not intervened. At least Palpatine would have been alive to save then.

No, I chided myself, don't despair. You gain nothing by giving up now. Remain calm, and you might be able to come up with a scheme to cheat death yet again. Remember, you have the best pilot ever to roam this galaxy or any other by your side, and if anyone can land this corroding hunk of metal it will be Anakin Skywalker.

"You're the hotshot pilot, Anakin," I remarked, maintaining a light tone, because I couldn't bring myself to admit how petrified I was to him. Although he wasn't my apprentice anymore, I still felt like I had to protect him. He had gone through dreadful things, but I still wanted to shield him from experiencing anymore agony than he had to. "Do you know how to fly this type of cruiser?"

"You mean, do I know how to _land _what's left of this cruiser," he corrected, his face tightening resolutely as it always did under stress, so the scar marring his cheek was etched into sharp relief.

As I bobbed my head in affirmation, conceding that this was what I was actually asking, Anakin slid into the captain's chair.

"Well?" I pressed, laboring to keep my voice steady as the craft bucked and shuddered like a nexu striving to unseat a sentient dumb enough to attempt to ride it. Glancing at the datascreens, I saw that a large portion of the ship had splintered off.

"Under the circumstances, I'd say the ability to pilot this ship is irrelevant," Anakin stated, and I could hardly fault his logic. Some chance of survival was better than none, obviously, and with someone at the controls, there was a greater probability of landing this bucket of bolts on Coruscant without killing us all and hundreds of innocent Coruscanti still recovering from the trauma of having their planet invaded by Grievous and his armies.

While Palpatine and I plopped into the two least damaged nearby seats and R2 settled into a position at the auxiliary controls, Anakin's fingers danced across the datapad, tapping out a message to the clones so they would stop firing at us, informing them that we had commandeered the decaying vessel and instructing them not to complicate an already highly challenging affair. The code that particular update was written in would be used for about five more days. Then, we would all have to learn a new one before the Separatists could crack it. The only consolation was that Separatist troops endured the same tedious security procedure. Well, on the plus side of the ledger, memorizing all the codes improved neuron connections and mental agility even more than word searches did, and that was quite a compliment.

Once he had relayed this message to the clones, Anakin devoted his every faculty to navigating what was left of the vanguard of the Separatist fleet. Mainly to feel like I was accomplishing something, I began reeling off scraps of information from the screens on the console before me to my best friend, although he was too engrossed with his piloting job to comprehend what I was apprising him of, I surmised.

Not that I blamed him for shutting me out as most sentients would softly playing background music. After all, flying this hunk of metal must have been comparable to attempting to steer a comet, for the cruiser had no wings or landing gear, and, better, yet, the engines had broken off with the rear of the craft.

This sobering statistic was not softened by the fact that the few steering thrusters that were still affixed to the vessel were dead, and those that weren't were so devastated by fire that anything might happen if Anakin utilized them. Sure, they might function poorly, but they might have blown us into the Outer Rim, something that, in their condition, I judged as more probable. At any rate, there was no time to experiment, which was something of a relief, as my former apprentice might not have been able to resist the temptation to test them if we had been compelled to travel on this ship for any longer.

Now, we had reached the outer atmosphere. That meant that the friction was heating up the vestiges of the hull. Obviously, the craft approved of this situation even less than I did, because it quaked as yet more pieces dropped off the ship. I barely had time to hope that these segments wouldn't land on crowded businesses and conapts or on top of pedestrians― an impossibility as Coruscant was one gigantic ecumenopolis― as the control bridge jerked, rattling us all like marbles in a box when a child shook it.

Consoling myself with the fact that soon there wouldn't be many more parts for the craft to lose, I reeled off more information about our temperature, altitude, and speed to our thin-lipped pilot, whose entire attention seemed to be consumed by the controls. Yet, some faction of his brain appeared to be listening to the numbers, filing them, and integrating them into his maneuvers as he flew by a characteristic amalgamation of luck, of reflexes, of wit, and of instincts.

At this point, we were now well within the atmosphere, and the spires of skytowers and superskytowers were starting to whiz into view. We were still traveling at much too high a velocity for a landing, not a crash. Anakin must have reached the same realization for he opened all the hatches and extended every drag fin, swapping the growing heat that was a byproduct of increased friction for the decreased speed that resulted from the friction.

For a moment, the tradeoff appeared to function in our favor. However, the ship was the one who had the last laugh on us, because then there was an enormous jolt, and the kph readout number increased so exponentially that I feared it would leave scorch marks on the screen.

"We lost something," Anakin concluded, grinding his teeth together.

"Everything from the hangar back just fell off," I educated him, laboring to keep cool as I checked the datascreen that provided an overview of the remnants of the simmering vessel. After all, this situation was hot enough without my adding fuel to the fire, so to speak. As much to soothe myself as to reassure him, I amended, "Not to worry, though, we're still flying half the ship."

Or crashing it. We would find out shortly, as would the poor beings in the edifices we demolished when our out-of-control craft catapulted into a residential or commercial district. Blast, why couldn't we fall onto an unpopulated planet where we wouldn't kill a hundred locals when we perished in an inferno? It was really very callous of the Force not to grant any of my requests when I made so few of them.

"I'm going to shift a few degrees," murmured Anakin, fiddling with the controls, "and see if I can slow us down."

To me, it seemed like a decent idea. In theory, it sounded as though it would be as effective as any plan, and perhaps it would even work in practice. At any rate, it could hardly make this catastrophe any worse…The lie of this foolhardy assumption of mine was demonstrated as the temperature display of our craft shot up like a torpedo when he performed this action.

"We're heating up," I warned, commanding myself sternly not to panic. Waterworks, while offering a satisfying fashion of lowering the nerves and emitting excess tension, would not facilitate our survival. In fact, it might quicken our demises. As if a slow death was preferable to a fast one, I snorted inwardly. Then again, if we did not lapse into hysterics, we might live, but the odds would be greatly reduced if we fell into a frenzy, and the chances of us living to discuss this incident in group therapy were already slim― narrower than the waist of an anorexic holofilm actress, in fact.

"I know, I know." Anakin played the controls like a musician would an instrument, opening and closing jets and employing his steering mechanisms to brake. Everything he did, though, amounted to nothing more than an endeavor to slow our freefall through the Coruscanti atmosphere.

"Fire ships are on the left and the right," I sighed in relief as a pair of them soared into view. Finally, help was on its way, and just in time, too, because soon I would be able to see what those who inhabited the rarefied upper levels of the conapts were doing, and I wasn't enough of a busybody to desire to pay for such an experience with my life.

The words had barely escaped from my lips when Anakin flicked on the comm system. An instant later, the voice of one of the emergency vehicle's pilot flooded the bridge, punctuated with random barrages of static, "Follow us. We'll put out what fire we can."

Follow you? I echoed to myself, stunned. That was worse than asking an inebriated man to walk on the tightrope at the circus. Our ship was going wherever it wanted. Anakin's best attempts at guiding it were hardly capable of slowing it down. There was no manner in which it could be navigated in the traditional sense of the word.

While I thus mused, coordinates transmitted from the fire ships blared on the nav computer of our disintegrating vessel. Apparently, Coruscanti security officers had vacated a heavy-duty landing strip in the Industrial sector of the world. Wonderful. It wasn't a very distant location, and the durasteel of the landing pad would be resilient enough to halt this bucket of bolts. There was also the added bonus of the Industrial district being away from the residential areas, which meant that if we missed the target, we wouldn't ignite a lot of conapts. Obviously, some governmental official in a dead-end bureaucratic position with a pension and job security and absolutely nothing else had been thinking. If I ever discovered precisely whom the individual was, I would be sure to send him or her a thank-you note with candies, as well as recommend him or her for a promotion.

"What's our speed?" Anakin demanded as he cajoled our craft after the emergency vehicles, who were escorting us, showered us in a mist of water and chemicals designed to suppress flames.

Through the smoking viewport, I watched, appalled, as steeples on the gargantuan structures of Coruscant streaked by a handful of meters beneath the belly of our vessel. There were way too many buildings, and they were far too close. It didn't matter what we did. At least the human cannibals of Coruscant would be happy, as long as they enjoyed well-done meat, that is.

Perhaps R2 was also contemplating our imminent, fiery demise, for he whirred shrilly at Anakin, making me wish fervently for sonic dampners.

"Keep us level," my former apprentice ordered the astromech once it was finished with its grating noise. Even as he established as much, he continued to labor to slow our unruly descent.

"Five thousand meters from the planet's surface," I told him.

"Hang on," he advised, and I clutched a side of the console immediately. At least I wouldn't die empty-handed. "This may get a little rough. We lost our heat shields." Splendid. We were on fire and had no more heat shields. A little rough failed to describe this the way a faint hunger cramp paled as a synonym for starving to death.

"Landing strip is straight ahead," I announced as its gray shimmer streamed toward us. We were too low, too fast, and too late to make even a controlled crash, I deduced, my mind racing at about a million kilometers an hour.

Still, I observed fairly as we drifted ever nearer to our pyrotechnic ends, the official had done a spectacular job again, because the landing platform was encircled by emergency fire speeders. Maybe if they hurried, they'd be able to rescue us before we all perished.

This uplifting concept, unfortunately, was snipped off abruptly when our vessel rocked. Then, everything happened too rapidly for me to absorb even a quarter of the terrifying events that transpired. A fire ship dodged away from our craft as we plowed onto the landing strip, sparking and sizzling throughout the whole journey. After that, my view of the outside world vanished entirely in a thick coating of fire-retardant foam.

For a moment that contained an eternity and a half, I was positive and nauseatingly afraid that Anakin hadn't managed to cut our speed enough and that we would slide off the end of the pad, plummeting the kilometers down to the planet's surface to our slightly delayed dooms. Then, to my shocked elation, the ship halted with a shudder that rattled every centimeter of its remaining, devastated frame.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," growled Anakin, looking as taken aback as if someone he trusted had backhanded him. Clearly, he hadn't accepted the fact that he had pulled off this latest stunt, either. When I saw his azure eyes blaze with triumph, I would know that he had wrapped his brain around his newest claim to fame.

Figuring that there was no reason to remain on a burning ship, I unstrapped myself as Anakin and the Chancellor did the same. Once we had clambered out of our chairs, we rushed over to the escape door and ducked out into the comparatively fresh air of Coruscant.

When we dropped down onto the durasteel platform, we discovered that a shuttle waited among the emergency vehicles to transport us to the Senate, where any senator who wanted to earn the Supreme Chancellor's favor in order to further a pet cause of someone who funded his or her campaign was awaiting the arrival of the demigod Palpatine, so he or she could fawn all over his sacred body.

Sighing at the thought of making contact with politicians again, I climbed onto the shuttle after my two companions and settled myself on one of the cushioned benches alongside Anakin. While the concerned, flustered medics on board the shuttle tended to the shaken Chancellor en route to the squat, mushroom dome that contained the Senate, my former Padawan and I debated the most controversial aspect of any mission that terminated with our return to the capital. That was, of course, who would have to answer the questions of the incessant, pestering Holonet "investigative" reporters and who would have to smile politely at senators while declining invitations to their evening parties while the other one of us retreated to cower behind any object large enough to conceal us.

It was like latrine duty in that it was a revolting chore that somebody, in this case him or me, would have to attend to. However, it was worse in that the contents of the latrine had only been accumulating for days or weeks, as opposed to years or decades. Still, as flawed as it was, the latrine analogy was the best one I could devise, although Anakin's metaphor about us being the carcass the media and the politicians gorged on undeniably had its merits, as well.

"This whole operation was your idea," Anakin contended, suddenly very eager to shove the credit for the whole thing on me, as our conveyance whizzed down the lane for the exclusive use of the filthy rich corporate owners and legislators who inhabited the upper echelons of Coruscanti society, and which eliminated just about all the deadlock that was the city's idea of standard traffic.

"Sorry, old friend," I responded, "you killed Count Dooku." At this assertion, Anakin flinched. Obviously, the topic was still taboo. Well, I supposed that was yet another indicator of how the Clone Wars had robbed him of his youth. Now he took no pleasure in a deed he had longed to perpetrate since Geonosis. That was just as well, since a Jedi ought not to have relished a killing, no matter how justified. Glossing over his grimace, I went on smoothly, "You rescued the Chancellor, and you managed to land that bucket of bolts safely. You―"

"Only because of your training, Master. You deserve all those speeches," persisted Anakin, all modesty. His eyes expanded earnestly, reminding me of the child I had once trained. How exactly he could be a morose man aged before his time one minute, and a precocious youth the next was a feat I could never comprehend, but I was glad he could execute it so faultlessly. It made me feel younger, and that could only be a plus as this whole war caused me to feel like I had lived for a century that was filled with nothing but scarring carnage and suffering.

"Those endless speeches." My lips twisted into an ironic grin as I reflected wryly that the interminable orations of the senators were far more of a punishment than a treat. Really, my best friend and I had to start acting less heroic and begin botching more missions. "Anakin, let's face it. You are the hero this time. It's your turn to spend a glorious day with the politicians." While I returned to the Temple, showered in a clean refresher, possibly uncovered some edible food, and slept for a millennia. I definitely had the better end of the deal, but I deserved it as I had less energy than him, and so required more rest to prevent my antiquated bones from splintering.

By this point, the shuttle had reached the Senate landing platform, which, as I had anticipated, was packed with hordes of senators. All of these notables were splayed by political affiliation with those who were on the extremely conservative end of the ideological spectrum, convinced that homosexuals should be stoned, standing on the right edge, and those on the insanely liberal part of the spectrum, deeming that man-on-datapad sex was acceptable and should be shown to toddlers, on the left side. In between, clustered the moderates who were responsible for preventing the liberals from murdering the conservatives and vice versa.

With an almost inaudible groan, I stared out the transparisteel window, taking inventory of what august individuals were present. In addition to Mace Windu, who was present to officially demonstrate the Jedi Order's concern about the Chancellor's welfare as Anakin and my rescue wasn't enough to do so from a public relations standpoint, there was Bail Organa there. Well, he wasn't so awful, but I couldn't tolerate Senator Jolene Inaya of Senali, who was Secretary of Education, even though she couldn't honestly be held accountable for the abysmal educational standards in the Republic as she had been dealt the impossible task of keeping our schools ahead of the Separatists with the budgetary equivalent of one warship, which amounted to a new flimsy lunch tray for every publically funded learning institute in the Republic. Yet, would it have been so difficult for her to master the distinction between desert and dessert?

Oh, I noted with a stomach plunge of despair, and there was Senator Dusan Dieter. He, as Secretary of Defense, had been the genius who had invented the color-coded alert system for the Grand Army of the Republic (green for ignorance, black for apathy, yellow for paranoia, blue for panic, and crimson for shoot anyone in sight who is a stranger as they might be a foe), and who hadn't, as far as I could discern, done jacksquat since then.

Beside him was Senator Hari Kapila, who, as Secretary of Health, was responsible for the second half of medicine holoadvertisements (the bits about nausea and death). Well, seeing as he was always on some illegal drug or other, he must know all about the effects of body chemistry substances.

Poor Anakin. He had to contend with the most vexing senators in the whole capital. Well, I guess he deserved it after all he had done as my Padawan.

Anakin's face had also fallen farther than the distance from the landing pad to the permacrete surface of the planet so far below when he scanned the platform and realized that Senator Amidala of Naboo was not among the welcoming committee. Either she was snubbing Palpatine or my best friend, or else she was afraid that she would not be able to mask her delight at seeing Anakin come back home in relatively good condition.

"Then you owe me," he stipulated as he pushed himself off the bench with a sigh, and we both headed toward the exit after the Chancellor, "and not just for saving your skin for the tenth time."

"Ninth time," I corrected automatically. "That incident on Cato Neimoidia doesn't count." It had been his idea to utilize me as bait, and, furthermore, I had dismantled most of the droids myself. All he had really done was catch me when I fainted and shove a rebreather in my mouth. Commander Cody could have achieved as much with considerably less mockery.

As he disembarked the shuttle, he rolled his eyes, as I called after him, "See you at the briefing."

I watched as Mace Windu stepped forward to formally greet the Chancellor, his swarthy forehead knitted even more than was typical with him. Once the niceties were completed, he joined me on the conveyance. As soon as he had boarded the craft, the pilot set off for the Temple.

Gazing out the window at the balconies and holoadvertisements that dotted the cityscape, I hoped that this ride back to the Temple would be a time for relaxation and rejuvenation for battered me. However, Mace had a different idea, and, as usual, he had to force his will on others. Therefore, my return to the Temple was as stressful as the trip back to Coruscant had been. I only had to fight a different, but more deadly, fire.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: I borrowed much of the dialogue in the shuttle ride back to the Temple from Matt Stover's novelization, so, even though I mentioned my debt to him in the first chapter, I figured I would establish it again, so nobody gets mad at me. The narration and the scene at the Temple, though, are all my invention.

Trivia: If you can name the hometown of my new Avatar (check out my profile), then you can get the next chapter of this fic dedicated to you. It fits with my story, because he is a Devil, and this fic is all about raising evilness.

Shadows and Stubbornness

As we pulled away from the congested landing pad, Master Windu jerked his bald head toward the window that provided a clear view of this unpleasant congregation of sycophants, and remarked somberly, "I don't approve of Anakin's relationship with Palpatine."

By nature, Mace Windu was inclined to frown upon much, and the Clone Wars had only highlighted this critical tendency of his. If I was a right little ray of sunshine a majority of the time, he was a solar flare. While I was always willing to lend an attentive ear to someone I revered as much as I did him, we'd discussed this matter ad nauseam. Although Palpatine's connection with Anakin had been a cause of much discomfiture and brow furrowing for me since he had patted the boy's shoulder on Naboo all those years ago when the galaxy had been a different place, I had concluded at about that time that there was nothing to be done about the plight. I was a defeatist, and people like me were prone to holding up queues at the bakery, bemoaning the fact that there was nowhere in the Republic where they could purchase a pastry.

Still, in this case, I figured that my pessimism was justified. One could hardly order the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic to distance himself from one of his subjects, unless one wasn't intimidated by the prospect of being shoved off the balcony of the three hundredth floor of a skytower. Similarly, there was no way, even when he was my Padawan, that I could have effectively prohibited Anakin from visiting with the Chancellor. Like patience, obedience had never been his area of strength, just as flying and the Living Force had never been mine.

Therefore, if I commanded Anakin not to make contact with Palpatine, not only would he not comply, but he would become all the fonder of the slippery politician, which was clustered at the top of my extensive list of occurrences I never wished to transpire. If we told Anakin he couldn't visit Palpatine, he would just possess the glamour of the forbidden, and that was a sheen my best friend never could resist any more than a flimsi clip could escape a magnetic force field. And if I tried to prevent him from seeing Palpatine, my relationship with my former apprentice would suffer, because he would resent my attempting to drive a wedge between him and the Chancellor.

No, sometimes the best option available was to refrain from doing anything, and to just let things be. Granted, affairs didn't improve with that tactic, but they didn't worsen, either, and, in the present universe we inhabited, that was worth more than a cargo of Corusca diamonds.

"We've had this conversation before," I began wearily, stifling a sigh and wishing he could have waited until I returned to the Temple and had gotten some rest before he dragged up this particular piece of dirty laundry, which should be avoided as much as the den of an irate nexu. Sometimes beings took my vaunted patience for granted far too much for my endorsement. They should have realized that there were limits to my otherwise boundless patience. If they doubted me, they could just ask Anakin. From the ages of sixteen to nineteen, he had made a hobby of aggravating me, and he had been distressingly skilled at it, just as he was uncomfortably gifted at piloting. Of course, he was less of a pain in the glutes now, and, even then, he had compensated for his vexing behavior by amusing me in situations when even Qui-Gon wouldn't have been capable of doing so.

"There's something new between them," interrupted Mace Windu brusquely, his stimcaf eyes locking on mine, as uncompromising and as fervent as always. "It felt powerfully and incredibly dangerous."

At this revelation, I shuddered. That was bad news. Unlike me, he didn't do verbal irony, comic exaggeration, hyperbole, or complex philosophical observations about the least significant issues known to sentients, which meant that when he described something as perilous it was probably as lethal as the Circus Maximus on Nar Shadaa or a supernova.

Yet, what he detailed sounded almost like a plot between Anakin and the Supreme Chancellor. That was a preposterous notion, though. While Palpatine probably felt like a failure if he had not engaged in eleven different sly schemes by breakfast time, subterfuge had never been my former apprentice's style. When it came to being subtle, he could no more pull it off than an enraged intoxicated Wookie could.

Besides, my best friend would never betray the Jedi or me. He would die before he did so. Yes, the war had shown me shadow elements of his character, but it had also revealed the gaping holes in my own morality. Interstellar conflict had compelled us to live on the brink, when we could never be positive which breath or heartbeat would be our last. We had cracked corny jokes through numb lips when we felt like bawling, instead. We had held onto ledges when Force knows what supported us because our fingers just wanted to let go. We had trudged through mud oceans the size of the Kaminoan seas to retreat or attack foes. From experience, we could tell you exactly how far we could lug a wounded comrade on our backs to the nearest Rimsoo makeshift medcenter. Believe it or not, though, that was the uplifting aspects of our education under fire. It was moments like that where we glimpsed how brave, how resolute, and how noble we could be.

The unpleasant instructions showed us our own brutality, and proved that, judging by our conduct, we wouldn't have been out of place in the filthiest sewer system in the Republic. That is, war wasn't just about dying for a cause. No, it was about killing for it, and we both had done our fair share of that bloody business. Thus, I would never claim that either of us were innocents, saints, or great heroes. That was all political propaganda or bantha droppings, depending on one's perspective. Possibly, we weren't even good men, just ordinary beings shoved into extraordinary circumstances that had shaped us the way the terrain molds a raging river. Nowadays, nobody could determine right from wrong, anyway, since such definitions for the most part seemed to have been chucked into a garbage compressor at the outset of the Clone Wars.

However, I would insist that Anakin would never abandon me, just as I would never desert him. Through the haze of battle, we had always been able to depend on each other, and that had allowed us to maintain our sanity in the face of carnage that might have sent many individuals babbling incoherently to the nearest mental hospital. As long as we remembered to have faith in one another, we would survive, no matter how little there was to continue to live for.

Still, I was at a total loss to explain any of these convictions aloud, which was just as well I reflected since I didn't desire to sound like a weepy actress in a cheesy romance holodrama, so, in the end, I only declared simply, "I trust Anakin with my life."

"I know you do," Mace acknowledged grimly. "What concerns me is that we can't trust the Chancellor with Anakin's."

"Yes, sometimes Palpatine's policies are questionable at best," I conceded. I trusted the slimy old legislator about as far as I could throw him in a pelting rainstorm on Kamino. Then again, in all fairness, he had never requested a return favor from his protégée. Perhaps he really just did thirst for a young person to rub on the head, toss sweets to, and praise. After all, he'd never married, seeing as he was no prize in the human looks kingdom, or had any legitimate children, and he might now feel the urge to indulge in a youth that few could resist as they neared the long drop at the end of the roller coaster ride that was life. Of course, I was such a trusting soul, and it was much more plausible that Palpatine was employing Anakin as a tool to demonstrate how far those he patronized could rise in the universe. Either way, though, there was little we could do about it unless Shaak Ti astonished us all with her wiles once again, something that was not entirely beyond the realm of possibility. "Yet he dotes on Anakin like a kindly old uncle on his favorite nephew."

"The Chancellor loves power," Mace asserted, bluntly confirming my own analysis. Yes, the Chancellor lusted after power, and his every action was somehow devoted to boosting his own prestige, as he often seemed to regard the masses of the Republic as existing solely to glorify his personage, which would be like having a trophy wife and multiplying that empowering sensation by a quintillion. However, using Anakin as a poster boy for his war and regime wasn't the same as hurting him or the Jedi, was it? Yet another question for me to ruminate upon during the scant time I had to meditate. "If he has any other passion, I have not glimpsed it."

"What would you have me do?" I decided to press to the heart of the issue. In this case, echoing ancient discussions would accomplish nothing, unless he had a strategy, which I doubted. Mace Windu, like Anakin, utilized straightforward methods to achieve his objectives. He didn't devise complex plans; instead, he left that to Yoda and the other members of the Council.

"I am not certain," he responded after a moment's pause in which we both stared blankly out at a landscape marred with smoldering ruins where once high and mighty edifices jammed with sentients had gleamed like snowdrifts on Arkania in the sunlight. "Just be alert, be mindful of Anakin, and be careful of Palpatine. Since he is not trustworthy, his influence over Anakin is dangerous."

"But Anakin is the Chosen One," I reminded him. If he was the Chosen One, he was probably intended to handle this himself, and our meddling would only mess everything up.

"That's all the more reason to fear an outsider's influence," countered Master Windu, spotting where I was headed and overriding me crisply. "We have circumstantial evidence that traces Sidious to Palpatine's inner circle."

"Are you sure?" I demanded, gasping. Without warning, the oxygen in this shuttle was depleting. Great. I was getting transported on ships with all sorts of malfunctions today. Well, it was one way to broaden my palate. A few seconds later, when my breathing pattern was more regular, I recognized that the oxygen concentration in the vehicle had not altered. Rather, I was just having trouble operating my lungs owing to shock.

Not having resided in a cave with no access to the Holonet for my whole existence, I was well-aware that calling politics in the Republic Senate corrupt was an understatement akin to accusing a banquet of being a moldering crust of bread, but even the immoral scumbags who were convinced that it was their whatever-deity-they-professed-to-believe-in-to-secure-votes-at-election-time given right to legislate about the minimum legal size holes of cheese in various brands couldn't be in the palm of a Sith Lord. If that was the case, I had been fighting for nothing, because if the Republic was in the hands of the Sith, it was better of dead.

Even though I comprehended that Mace Windu could not offer me any reassurance, I glanced at him. Foolishly, I cherished the feeble hope that he had been pulling my leg, and that he would announce that I could commence respiration at a normal rate again, and what a pity it was that he didn't have a holocamera to preserve my appalled expression for the delight of future generations of Jedi when they rummaged through the Archives, seeking boring facts that would aid them on their missions several centuries from now. Yet, simultaneously, I recognized in the rear of my mind that he would do no such thing.

Even before the war, the creator of the seventh and most deadly form of lightsaber combat had never been a prankster. After Geonosis, Mace Windu couldn't even force a grin out. Sometimes he strived to, but it was an agonizing endeavor for both himself and his audience, so it was a blessing that he did not attempt the impossible too frequently in that matter.

Thus, as I had anticipated, instead of a consolation, Mace went on tersely, "Nothing is certain anymore, but the capture of Palpatine had to be an inside job, and the timing is suspect, too. We were closing in on him when the raid on Coruscant came, which is too convenient for chance. With the information you and Anakin uncovered, we had traced the Sith Lord to an abandoned factory in the Works, and when the attack began, we were tracking him through the downlevel tunnels."

Here, he hesitated, gazing out the window at Five Hundred Republica, a superskytower conapt that dominated the western skyline, and housed an astounding array of media tycoons who had gotten rich by toeing party lines, corrupt politicians and their trophy spouses, businesspeople who had either earned their credits by bludgeoning any competition to death or through the less brutal but less exciting means of inheritance, and scantily clad divas who churned out the earsplitting noise dubbed as music in this troubled, culturally challenged era. Then, he rallied from the depression this attractive, glittering construction could instill in a body by reminding them of a pristine tooth with a rotting interior, and concluded through thin lips, "The trial led to the sub-basement of Five Hundred Republica."

Well, that narrowed it down to about a thousand and a half possible suspects, and trying to filter the truth from the lies in people accustomed to spreading falsehoods every time their lips moved would be a fun venture. At the very least, it was designed to make your head feel more disoriented than it would after ten consecutive trips on the tilt-a-whirl at a carnival. Still, the interviews would have to be done. Now that we were close to discovering him, we had to investigate this lead.

"Oh," I managed to choke out as these ideas raced rambunctiously about my skull, all struggling for supremacy in my barely functioning cerebrum. Luckily, however, Mace Windu was so wrapped up in imparting his horrible news upon me to notice my inarticulate reaction.

"We have to deal with the possibility― no, the probability― that what Dooku told you on Geonosis was actually true, that the Senate is really under the control of Darth Sidious, and that it has been so for years."

"Do you―" I discovered at this juncture that my throat had constricted abruptly, and I had to swallow several times to clean it out before I could continue in a subdued tone. "Do you have any suspects?"

"Too many," sighed Mace Windu, rubbing a hand over his bald crown. "All we know about Sidious is that he's bipedal and of roughly human conformation. Obviously, that's not much of a help when a majority of the beings that inhabit that building are humanoid. However, Sate Pestage springs to mind, and I wouldn't rule out Mas Amedda, either. It might be neither of them, though. The Sith Lord might even be concealing himself among the Red Guards. In short, there's no way to know who he is, and what precisely his power over Palpatine is."

"Who's handling the questioning?" I pressed, harboring under the delusion that if I kept posing inquiries, I would be able to keep my surprise and fear at the notion of our government being under the thumb of a Sith at bay. Then, because I would rather being doing something to contribute while I was on Coruscant for an indefinite period than meditate all day, I added, "I'd be happy to sit in. My perceptions are not as refined as some, but―"

"Interrogate the Supreme Chancellor's personal aides and advisors? Impossible." Mace shook his head to indicate that no official investigation into Sidious' identity was underway. When he established as much with his customary firmness, I realized that he was correct. Relationships between the Jedi and Palpatine were frayed enough without us poking our nose in his office. He would have vapors and whine to the Senate about the violation of his traditional right to privacy by the increasingly rogue Jedi, and, as usual, the blind herd animals in the Senate would side with him against us. Well, everyone except the league of about one hundred senators that was butting heads more and more regularly with our exalted head of state, of which Bail Organa and Padme Amidala were an integral part. While the number might initially sound impressive, it wasn't when one recalled that there were thousands of systems in the Republic, even after some had fled into the arms of the Separatists, which meant that a hundred of them had a hard time even getting a filibuster.

As Padme entered my mind, I wondered vaguely if Anakin knew that she was estranged from the Chancellor, and then dismissed the thought as insignificant. Anakin's love life― no, close friendship― with Padme Amidala was none of my affair. Besides, I had many more important issues to contemplate at the moment, such as how we were going to neutralize Sidious if we couldn't ensure Palpatine's cooperation in an investigation. Speaking of which, one thing plagued me.

"But he doesn't have the authority to interfere with a Jedi investigation, does he?" I frowned.

"The Senate has surrendered so much power, that it's hard to determine where his authority stops," stated Mace Windu.

"It's that bad?" I had been cognizant of the fact that Palpatine pushed the legal confines of the Constitution that ruled this Republic more often than many of the financially constrained members of the lower levels changed their garments, but I hadn't understood that he was capable of rewriting and changing the law to suit his needs. The idea was terrifying, but not unbelievable. Who could say what citizens would give up for guarantees of security, and what senators would surrender for more of the ambrosia of power?

"Yes," my fellow Council member educated me, his jawbone clenching. "The only reason Palpatine's not a suspect is because he already rules the galaxy."

"Still, we are closer than we have ever been to rooting out the Sith," I mused, unconsciously stroking my beard. "That can only be a good thing. I would think that Anakin's friendship could be of use to us in this, because he has the sort of access to Palpatine that other Jedi can only dream of. Their friendship is an asset, not a danger."

"You can't tell him," Mace Windu stipulated.

"I beg your pardon?" I blinked. Force, he was being a bit free with the orders. The point of having a Council was so we could discuss problems, instead of bossing each other around.

"Of the whole Council, only Yoda, myself, and now you, know how deep this actually goes," he elaborated. "I have decided to share this with you because you are in the best position to watch over him, and watch over him only. Nothing more."

"We don't keep secrets from each other," I protested, my knees like pudding. Sure, we tried to sometimes, and we liked to pretend that I didn't know about Anakin's romance with Padme, but it was all a show, so that if it ever came out, I could claim ignorance, and so that I would not have to be the one who reported him to the rest of the Council. This was completely different. I couldn't do this. A lie by omission was still a falsehood, and I couldn't look my best friend in the eye and feed him nonsense. He trusted me, and still turned to me for guidance. I couldn't take advantage of that. That would be wrong. Even in the morally ambiguous state that we had all been residing in after Geonosis, that was solar systems away from being acceptable.

"You must keep this one." Mace Windu was as adamant as ever, ignoring my anguish. "Anakin is arguably the most powerful Jedi alive, and he is still getting stronger. However, he is not stable. You know it. We all do. It's why he can't be given Mastership― why we must keep him off the Council, despite his extraordinary gifts. Besides, the Jedi prophecy is not absolute. Therefore, the less he has to do with Palpatine, the better."

Obviously, there was no way I was going to win this dispute, I groaned inwardly. Master Windu had thought of everything, and he wasn't inaccurate in his description of Anakin. Stability suited my former Padawan as an adjective about as well as wet fit a desert, and it was his unpredictability that had cost him a place on the Council. Orders did not like dissenters. They only approved of those whom they could be confident would accede to their wishes basically one hundred percent of the time, since that was the sign which was most valued by any order, because it revealed one's willingness to submit oneself completely to a group.

Now, his unpredictability meant that the Council did not want Anakin to be apprised of all the information about Sidious, even though they planned on employing him as a spy against the man. Yet, as awful as that was, that wasn't the worst of this situation. No, the worst thing was that I couldn't say that the Council was wrong in this assessment. If Anakin realized that Palpatine might be endangered by a Sith, there was no telling what he might spill out, either intentionally or unintentionally. No, I would have to keep this to myself, because the fact of the matter was I could have secrets from my best friend, and I would.

Dimly, I recognized that I had crossed a line that I never envisioned I would, but the general good demanded that I do so, and that mattered more than my or Anakin's feelings. Of course, maybe this was how sentients fell into the Dark Side. First, they made minor concessions to the shadows within them, and rationalized them by reasoning that a large number of beings would benefit from their actions. Then, they became accustomed to what they formerly would have constituted as immoral behavior, and no longer required petty justifications for their crimes, because they had transcended the weakness of their consciences. After that, there was no saving them from the endless night. The scary idea was that when I closed my eyes, I could feel like I was falling, just like I had plummeted through that turbolift shaft with Anakin and the Chancellor a few hours ago.

Had it really only been a few hours ago? No, it can't have been. It seemed like it had been years ago, or centuries in the past. Well, that proved just how distorted my worldview had become. Meditation was definitely in order for me. After I ate something to prevent hallucinations, I would mediate for several hours before I went to bed. A bit of communing with the Force would work miracles for my befuddled mind.

"What can I tell Anakin, then?" I asked, resigning myself to my unpleasant duty. Now no Jedi could claim that I ever shirked my obligations, no matter how onerous they were. At least, everyone would have to acknowledge that I fulfilled my responsibilities, even if they gobbled up my very soul.

"Nothing. Tell him nothing," asserted Mace. "I sense the Dark Side about him."

"As it is around us all," I reminded him, because I wasn't going to start talking about Anakin behind his back, even if I was going to begin lying to him. I hadn't plunged into the darkness that far yet. That would probably commence around noon tomorrow. Then we could get together and have an Anakin-bashing party, and the whole Council could attend. Initially, I would have termed it a backstabbing fiesta, but since you had to be a buddy to backstab, that would apply only to me, not the Council, which had never supported Anakin. "The Dark Side touches all of us, Master Windu. Even you."

Clearly, it tainted me, too. After all, it hadn't taken me very long to agree to mislead and manipulate my best friend. Whatever that said about me, I was pretty sure it wasn't very flattering. Perhaps I should have pursued a career in politics, after all. Sadly, though, that aspiration would have to go unattained, since I would not be able to raise the credits necessary to fund a campaign at this point in my life, which was undeniably one of the greatest tragedies of the known universe after slavery and child abuse.

"I know that all too well, Obi-Wan." Mace Windu's voice was softer, more vulnerable, and his eyes were raw and haunted. Without asking, I was aware that he was reflecting on all the dreadful things that he had done since the beginning of this war that he would have been appalled at himself for committing before Geonosis had come and thrust us into a land of questions with no correct answers. Wonderful. I had managed to depress us both. Some diplomat I was. Well, at least we weren't alone in our sorrow, and everyone insisted that misery loved company.

As we rode the rest of the way back to the Temple in uncomfortable quiet, I decided that whoever had invented that expression must not have been utilizing half of his brain when he devised it, because our glumness just seemed to be dragging one another ever deeper into the night. Then again, perhaps the maxim was only applicable if one conversed to another who was in a crisis, as well, and neither of us were venting.

When the shuttle had conveyed us back to the Temple and soared off into the twilight sky through the hangar bay, Master Windu and I nodded politely at each other. Then, we drifted away from one another with the same humiliated, awkward fashion that members of a religious sect that outlawed the consumption of alcohol would slip away from each other in a liquor store. After we had parted company in such a stilted manner, I wandered over to the nearest bank of turbolifts and rode one up to the level that contained my quarters, my resolution never to be transported in one forgotten in lieu of my fatigue.

After almost drowning myself in the refresher because I was enjoying my first hot shower in months far too much, I slipped on a clean set of robes and began to head down to the rectory. To my embarrassment, however, I forget that the turbolift banks that were nearest to my quarters did not descend down to the rectory. This was so because some free-thinking Jedi architect of dubious skill (no doubt the maverick of his era, like Qui-Gon or Anakin) had made the ill-advised executive decision of having walls built where they had no business to be with the net result that they blocked off certain segments of the Temple entirely, so that one had to recall which turbolifts had access to which parts of the structure. It was all needlessly vexing, and when I became one with the Force, I would certainly let the Jedi who had designed those walls hear my feelings about his architectural choices. Everyone else would just have to plug their ears until I was finished with my rant.

When I finally strode into the rectory after my wrong turn, which I was glad Anakin had missed since he would have wondered aloud if remedial map lessons were open to Jedi Masters to enroll in, the shadows that the shower ought to have removed were at last lifted from my mood at the sight of Bant Eerin.

She was one of the most pure and compassionate souls I had ever had the fortune of meeting, and, even among the Jedi, she had an inner light that separated her from everybody else. Where the rest of us were common pewter, she was unmarred gold. Why exactly she had chosen to become one of my closets friends when we were both initiates at the Temple was a mystery that I had yet to resolve. All I knew was that I was happy she had. Just being around Bant brought a decade off me.

"Obi-Wan!" she called, beaming as she dashed out of the line waiting to be dished out food from the kitchen droids, and embraced me, filling my nostrils with the scent of salt and steam that covered every Mon Calamari. "I heard you were back."

"So, you do listen to gossip about me?" I teased her, as she pulled away from me, and we both fell back into the rear of the line, behind a group of younglings, who were complaining vociferously that they had been assigned an impossible task in astro-psychics class that day. It didn't seem like that long ago since I had been standing there with Bant, Reeft, and Garen griping about how difficult my lessons were.

At the time, I hadn't appreciated how simple they were. Yes, they could be hard, but if you messed up, there were no major consequences. No planets went to war. No sentients perished. No houses went up in a hideous conflagration. In short, if you screwed up, you hurt nobody but yourself. Real life wasn't like that, but I hoped that these younglings would never reach that conclusion, although, of course they would, because that was how this universe worked: children matured into adults, who eventually grew old and died, leaving a new generation to fill their ranks, and to age, one was compelled to learn the nastiest things imaginable. That was how one got the gray hairs and wrinkles that were the defining element of a true sage, after all. Evicting such dispiriting sentiments from my mind, I went on, forcing myself to feign mock indignation, "I'm very offended that you would do that."

"Oh, I might have listened to the gossip that you had returned, but I didn't believe it until I laid eyes on you." Her watery, bubbly eyes sparkled at me as the queue lurched forward, and we both moved along in the tide.

"What a relief," I smirked.

"It's no comparison to the relief I feel at knowing your sarcasm bone is still intact," Bant declared, as the line surged forward again, and we found ourselves having metallic bowls and spoons shoved into our hand by a rectory droid.

"Are you falling into your role as my personal medic, already?" I grumbled. As I posed this question, the queue trickled forward again, and this time a kitchen droid dumped three ladlefuls of what I assumed was minced nerf stew into our dishes. As we progressed on down the line and snatched cartons of bantha milk from the cooler, I eyed the stew that had been plopped into my bowl suspiciously.

Personally, it would require a forensic test to persuade me that the unappetizing brown blend before me was a mixture of ground nerf, mashed vegetables, gravy, and broth. Surely, it was just a combination of items uncovered in the sewage and garbage compressor by some Padawan who had volunteered for rectory duty.

Still, I noted judiciously to myself as Bant and I settled down across from each other at a vacant table, it was immensely superior to the bland Republic Rations that Anakin and I had been relying on for sustenance for I didn't desire to calculate how long because the figure was so demoralizing. Besides, it was warm and seemed to have been cooked recently, and that was a luxury I knew better than to take for granted.

"If I don't care for you, who will?" Bant pointed out once she had sipped a steaming spoonful of what was purported to be nerf stew.

"There's Anakin," I contended, sniffing the dung colored liquid before me, deciding it was non-toxic, and taking a tentative swallow. When I did so, I discovered that it tasted even worse than it smelled, which was saying something, since it was as odiferous as a carcass that been left out in the summer sun to decompose for a couple of days. "We have an understanding: I drag him to the Rimsoo when he needs to and doesn't want to go, and he returns the favor."

"Anakin doesn't count," she dismissed, wearing the gentle smile that she always did when his name was mentioned. For some reason, she had determined that he required nurturing, and she strove to provide it as best she could. "He is not much more than a boy, and he still needs looking after himself."

"Don't we all?" Even I didn't know whether I was jesting or not when I voiced this inspiring notion.

"You certainly do, anyway." Now Bant's moist eyes were leaking with concern as they riveted on me. "Rumor has it you received yet another concussion."

"That's what I think I've got."

"Then why in all the neighboring galaxies aren't you in the sick ward?" Bant shook her head in despair at my stubborn aversion to medial facilities.

"It's either the stupid hospital gown that never covers all of a body, the watered down ration cubes, the nauseating chemical odors, or the springy sleep couches. Take your pick," I mumbled, making slow but steady progress in the arduous venture of eating the nerf stew.

"Things are only as bad as you make them out to be," pronounced Bant serenely. "After supper, I'm going to take you up to the medcenter to have you checked out by a healer."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," I argued immediately.

"Oh, but it is," she insisted, her eyes widening to emphasize her meaning. "If you don't get your concussion cared for properly, it could cause medical complications when you are older and could result in an earlier death for you."

Listening to her, I couldn't contain a snort.

"What's so funny?" She glanced at me inquiringly, a flash of hurt rising in her eyes. "I'm serious."

"I just find it amusing that you think I'm going to live long enough to perish of latent complications from all my concussions," I clarified dryly.

"Obi-Wan, you'll live to a ripe old age and die peacefully in your sleep," she reassured me mildly, extending her hands across the table to squeeze my wrist for a moment before releasing it. "Don't worry about death yet. It's not healthy."

"I didn't know that you were so gifted with prophecy," I remarked, my lips quirking as I resisted the temptation to comment that I brooded on death at least five times a day. I was like a being cursed with second sight who could see the dead in a lame horror holovideo that never sold well at the box offices.

"I don't need to be blessed with precognition to spot that you'll live a long time," she informed me. "You're too headstrong not to survive for many more years."

"I'm not that stubborn," I protested, recalling how quickly I had acceded to Master Windu's demands in the shuttle. If I was really so resolute, I would have fought for more time and with more ferocity.

"Then why are you arguing with me about whether or not you are?" she chuckled.

"That's as much of a trap as the 'you're so disagreeable' statement," I complained. "It's unfair to make a rude assertion about someone that they can't counter without proving it factual."

"It's unjust, but it's ingenious." Bant's eyes were aglow with playfulness, just as they had been when we had sat here so many years ago, when we were initiates and Padawans and when the cavernous chamber had been ringing with the babble and laughter of hundreds more Jedi. Nothing had changed since then, and everything had altered since dichotomy pierced my heart more than either truth alone could have.

"Fine," I conceded, as we both finished our delectable meals, scooped up our dishes, carried them over to the window where some kitchen droids were washing bowls and cups in sudsy water, and exited the rectory. "I'll go up to the medcenter with you, even though it is unnecessary."

"I knew you would see reason eventually," chirped Bant merrily, as she pushed me over to a bank of turbolifts that allowed access to the sick ward. "You see, I said you were stubborn, but not impossible."

"Right," I muttered while a turbolift arrived, we boarded it, and Bant punched in the button that would direct the turbolift to convey us to the level that housed the sick bay, which I really didn't need to visit. "Impossible is reserved for beings like Anakin and Qui-Gon who'll persist in struggling eons after a battle has been lost."


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I played around with the time period a bit in this chapter because I wrote it in school when we had a sub, and I forgot the exact order. Then, I was too lazy to change it. Still, it works my way, even if it isn't one hundred percent accurate. Me culpa.

Waiting

The next morning, after the healers in their infinite wisdom agreed to release me from the med center, I headed downstairs to the rectory to consume some breakfast before I hurried off to the briefing on the progress of the Outer Rim Sieges. I could have eaten my morning meal in the hospital ward, but I wasn't in the mood for mashed ration cubes, especially because the rectory normally did a decent job with breakfast. In fact, breakfast at the Temple was always the best meal of the day simply because it was the most basic one to make, and, therefore, required a genius to mess up.

Thus, as soon as I persuaded the medics to release me from the prison that was the sick ward, I rushed to the nearest bank of turbolifts that descended to the rectory, took them down to the level where the cafeteria was, and entered it, joining the end of the queue of Jedi of all ages and species assembled along the buffet table. As the line moved along, I wisely refrained from taking any watery bubo eggs or any gritty Ruutanian potatoes. Instead, I helped myself to a quintberry muffin and a container of jerba yogurt, and grabbed a carton of aruza juice before twisting my way out of the rectory and bustling off to the meeting on the Outer Rim Sieges, which was scheduled to commence in just seven minutes.

When I strode into the conference chamber where the report was to be held, I saw that the room was already filled, but not jammed, with Jedi. Older younglings who wanted to impress Jedi Knights with their commitment to the Order were present, clustered in the front row, staring at the front of the room, even though Mace Windu , who was presiding over the briefing was not here. All of them had purposeful, serious expressions etched on their faces, and none of them chatted amongst themselves.

Behind the initiates were the younger Padawans. Since they had been chosen, they felt no compunction about displaying the rambunctiousness of youth, and were gossiping and playing hand games among themselves.

After the young Padawans, came the older ones, easily distinguishable by the glowers on their faces. Obviously, this meeting was occurring way too early for their approval. Some rested their heads on their palms, attempting to get in a few more minutes of snoozing before Mace Windu arrived, and they had to sit up straight and feign interest in what the senior Council member was announcing. Others were tossing fruit idly between their hands, clearly harboring no desire to consume the food. All of them had an unmistakable body language about them that screamed to anyone who wasn't blind that they were out of their sleep couches and had donned their robes, so nobody in any fairness could expect any more of them before noon. For some reason, I couldn't contain a slight smile at the sight of the surly Padawans. Moody apprentices always reminded me of Anakin, although I really didn't miss the days when he had awoken every day more irascible than a ronko with a headache. Unlike Anakin, I certainly hadn't been that mercurial when I was an apprentice. It was one of the few advantages of Qui-Gon being dead that he couldn't contradict me in this conviction.

At the rear of their Padawans were the Jedi Knights, who were conversing quietly among themselves. Knowing instantly my place in the gathering, I slid into a vacant spot beside Bant. "So you're back from the med center already," she remarked, as I did so.

Since I was munching on my muffin, I merely nodded in response.

"Where's Anakin?" she asked, realizing that he had not entered with me, which was unusual since we tended to do most Temple activities together. "I didn't see him last night at supper, either."

"Last night, he was busy answering questions for senators and smiling at the holocameras for the Holonet," I replied between bites of muffin. "Where he is at the moment is the million credit question. Maybe he still has to figure out how to escape Senator Akio Akira of Hathrox III. After all, that can sometimes require days of effort."

At this, Bant grinned, as she helped herself to a nibble of my muffin without my permission. Senator Akio Akira was so linguistically challenged that he made Jar Jar resemble a grammar professor at Coruscant University by comparison, being a politician who had difficulty inserting both nouns and verbs into his sentences. Unfortunately, though, that by no means diminished his desire to chat for what felt like hours on end to anyone who would listen, or, more precisely, anyone who could not find a polite guise under which to flee from him. It was very aggravating, and just a few minutes' exchange with him was enough to cause me to yearn for some privacy so that I could throw my cloak over my head and wail without anyone discovering my breakdown.

Despite my words, I doubted that Anakin was entrapped in a conversation with Senator Akio. Rather, I suspected that he was with Senator Padme Amidala…but, I reminded myself, he didn't have to be there. There were many other locations where he could be at the present. For instance, he might be in the crèche reading with the toddlers there, since he had always been fond of the little younglings, as they were more tolerant of him than many of the older Jedi and were unabashed in their admiration of what he had achieved in the war.

Of course, he also might be in his quarters. Perhaps he was relishing the marvel of hot water by using up all the Temple's supply of it, or maybe he was still sleeping. Once you started dreaming, it was nearly impossible to stop.

He could also have been on his way here. After all, he could have taken a wrong turn as I had last evening, and, besides, he had always delighted in terrorizing me by cutting things a little too close for my comfort at least.

Yet, I couldn't convince myself of the veracity of any of these ideas. No, I still believed he was with Senator Amidala, and I wished fervently that for his own good he would end his reunion with her before more critical eyes than Bant and mine detected his absence. After all, he most certainly did not require the rest of the Council poking into his business when he had a secret of that magnitude.

"I thought he was coming," I sighed, shaking my head resignedly as I began to eat my jerba yogurt. Really, if he wasn't planning on attending, he could have informed me yesterday when I reminded him of the meeting. Then again, being as familiar with the psyche of Anakin as I was, I surmised that he had been intending to go to the briefing when I had spoken with him. He might have even awoken this morning with the sincere intention of attending the report, but had found his day inexorably dragging him in every direction but the one he had been planning to travel in, and, as Qui-Gon would have, he had heeded its beckon.

"He most likely just got delayed," murmured Bant. "Don't worry. I'll bet he'll be here soon."

"He'd better be," I grumbled. Yes, technically, this briefing was optional. However, in the Temple, as in just about every organization, there were different degrees of 'optional.' There was the optional like breakfast, which one was free to attend or not as the whim struck one without any fear of attracting the disapprobation of the Council, which did not care whether or not individual Jedi consumed a morning meal. On the other hand, there was the optional that translated into "while it isn't required that you come, if you are absent, it will be noted and frowned upon unless you have an excellent excuse." Unfortunately for my best friend, this meeting on the Outer Rim Sieges was a prime example of the latter rather than the formal.

Therefore, it would behoove any young Jedi who was deemed as too unstable to show up here to illustrate his commitment to our Order and how seriously he took his obligations to it, especially if that young Jedi was interested in being promoted to the Council, as Anakin was.

If he didn't arrive soon, though, it would be better if he didn't attend at all. In his case, it would be better to skip the briefing entirely rather than arrive tardy, since his fame among the Jedi as well as the charisma that enshrouded him in a manner it never could engulf me ensured that, even if he tip-toed in, his appearance would be registered. As such, his arrival would garner more notice that way than it would if he didn't bother to go at all. If he didn't come at all, probably only Bant and the Council would recognize this.

At any rate, I educated myself sternly, you have to cease fretting about Anakin. He'll do whatever he wants, and worrying about his whereabouts has never successfully caused him to arrive sooner, so why do you persist in doing so?

Before the other half of my brain could reply that it was the sheer force of habit that compelled me to do so just as abused children would eventually seek out abusive partners, Mace Windu entered the conference chamber. From the rapidity with which silence descended upon the room as every speaking Jedi broke off mid-sentence and riveted their attention on the senior Council member, it was apparent to anyone who was not as clueless as a deaf man at an opera how much esteem Mace enjoyed among us.

"Good morning. Thank you all for attending this meeting," Mace Windu declared crisply, opening the briefing with his typical brusqueness and solemnity. "Overall, the Outer Rim Sieges are not proceeding as awfully as they could be."

As he established as much, he switched on the holchart, and the room was suddenly flooded with stars and planets that comprised the Outer Rim. While he described the engagements in the Outer Rim Territories, he gestured at each of the planets he discussed. "In the Ywllandr System, Jedi Master Ploo Koon is leading the Republic Navy against that of the Confederacy. At this point, latest intelligence from his ship _Courageous_ is that he is slightly ahead of the Separatists there."

At this juncture, there was a smattering of applause from some of the younger Padawans and the younglings, who had forgotten their adopted dignity now. Once the clapping had died, Mace Windu continued, "We will now progress to Bal'demnic.

"When Commerce Guild scouts discovered traces of cortosis in the cliffs of Bal'demnic, the Confederacy moved in. In the face of the Confederacy armed forces, the native Kon'me leaders were given little choice but to allow a major mining operation to proceed. Jedi intelligence managed to intercept leaked Confederacy communications, which alerted them to the situation on Bal'demnic. We dispatched Halagad Ventor and Sha Koon to lead a battalion of clone troopers with several other Jedi in an important mission to sabotage the mining operation. Although the native Kon'me leaders allowed the Confederacy mining operations to begin, the citizens were not so easy to persuade.

"An uprising ensued," he went on, and I could see the focus of some younglings and Padawans ebbing at this point, "and the Kon'me began attacking the Confederacy forces with powerful weapons provided by war profiteers. The Confederacy responded, unleashing their B1 battle droids upon the rebellious Kon'me. OG-9 homing spider droids scaled the planet's cliffs and destroyed many of the natives' weapon emplacements. Despite their heavy losses, the Kon'me were able to hold their own against the mechanical intruders, and a fully-fledged battle erupted. When Halagad Ventor's Republic task force arrived in the skies of Bal'demnic, his ARC-170 starfighters met immediate resistance in the form of Confederacy droid tri-fighters. When the air skirmish was over, Halagad and his troops landed with the intent to assist the natives. With all these foreign forces on their planet, the natives were further engraged to the point of total frenzy. In their final bid to drive the outlanders off their precious world, the Kon'me did not differentiate between Republic and Confederacy forces in their powerful counter-attack. With the Confederacy forces now under fire from two sides, and also being hindered by the planet's difficult terrain, they made a full retreat. Ventor and Koon, who had no desire to return fire on the hostile natives, also ordered a retreat of their forces. Halagad Ventor left part of his task force behind in Bal'demnic's orbit, establishing a planetary defense blockade to prevent any further Confederacy intrusions."

After that, Mace Windu updated us on the conditions of the Siege of Saleucami, the Battle of Murkhana, the Battle of Mygeeto, the Battle of Orto, and the Second Battle of Tythe before we were dismissed. Since I felt like I had not put much effort into this meeting, I volunteered to pick up the holcharts afterwards, and, as this was a task that nobody relished, no one objected to my doing so or offered to aid me. Instead, they all shoved their way out of the conference chamber.

"When you see Skywalker, tell him that Palpatine requested his presence in his office as soon as possible. A Padawan told me the Chancellor's shuttle is waiting to transport him there. I don't know why the Chancellor wants to meet with Skywalker, but just tell him to go when you see him," Master Windu requested of me as he departed. From the fact that he referred to Anakin by his surname, I knew that my former Padawan was not in Mace's good graces at the moment. When he was, he was called "Anakin." When he wasn't, he was dubbed "Skywalker."

"I'll do that," I answered, observing mentally that it would be more efficient if the Chancellor knocked on Padme's door asking to see Anakin rather than arranging a meeting through us, considering that we could not keep tabs on him.

All in all, though, it was lucky that I volunteered to collect the holocharts, because that meant that I was the only one who was present when Anakin finally deigned to arrive for the briefing on the Outer Rim Sieges. Better late than never, I noted wryly to myself, as he approached me.

"You missed the report on the Outer Rim Sieges," I remarked as he reached me.

"I was held up," returned Anakin snappishly, and I wondered if Padme had played a vicious prank on him by pouring hot sauce into his stimcaf. Then, he seemed to realize his own hostile tone and regret it, for he shook his head and amended with more civility and less volume, "I'm sorry. I have no excuse."

More like, he didn't have a decent excuse. There was always an excuse to offer, and he probably should devise a good one soon. Still, it was best not to dwell on a touchy subject. It was time to proceed to a less sensitive topic such as interstellar conflicts.

"In short, they are going very well," I updated him, congratulating myself at being able to sum up the Outer Rim Sieges faster than Masters Windu and Yoda could as I flicked off the last of the holograms. "Saleucami has fallen to us, and Master Vos has moved his troops to Boz Pity."

"What's wrong, then?" Anakin pressed, his forehead furrowing in consternation.

Ah, so he could read me as easily as I could him, then. I was concerned, but it was him that I was fretting about, as usual. I was worried about how he would conduct himself when he unwittingly intruded upon the crossfire between the Council and the Chancellor. At the very least, he should be aware of the frayed relationship between the two before he met with Palpatine. He deserved to be more than a trump card in dejarick, and in this case, I would have to be the person who cautioned Anakin of the peril he was about to enter.

"The Senate is expected to vote more executive powers to the Chancellor today," I commented, hoping to ease into the discussion of politics. Maybe if I tip-toed into it, he wouldn't run away as he normally did when our conversations took on a political quality.

"That can only mean less deliberating and more action," he determined, sounding pleased, and I stifled a groan. Of course he would perceive the situation in such a manner. Nothing was more crucial to him than action. He had yet to figure out that deciding the right direction to proceed in was as important as the charge itself. After all, if you were going the wrong way, your rapidness was worse than useless― it was dangerous. Noting my exasperation, Anakin inquired more hesitantly, "Is that bad? It will make it easier for us to end this war."

That may be true, but there was no point in waging a war to preserve our Republic if we were going to step back and permit the Chancellor to dismantle it himself, and piece by piece, these new executive powers were chipping away at the initial republican government that the founders of the Galactic Republic had devised when they created it.

Of course, Anakin wouldn't realize the full implications of the new executive powers. On a whole, he saw the galaxy in simplistic and mainly personal terms, unlike me. I had always seen the universe as a complex place that didn't care about me and whether I lived or died.

Therefore, I couldn't explain to him my thoughts, and I could only warn him, "Anakin, be careful of your friend the Chancellor."

"Be careful of what?" Anakin's puzzled frown implied that I had begun conversing in nonsensical fragments and non-sequiturs like the illustrious Senator Akio Akira.

"He has requested your presence," I responded, wishing that I could be more specific, but all I comprehended was that he was a sly creature, and it was never prudent to trust someone whose every movement was designed to advance his own selfish interests any further than an infant could lug a superskytower. Such sentients would only be your buddy as long as it served them, and they would never be your true friend.

And who was I to condemn the Supreme Chancellor? Was I really such a swell friend to Anakin Skywalker? Wasn't I keeping secrets from him even now? Force, it was so much easier to be loyal to someone on the battlefield when you both were in peril of being blasted to all the diverse ends of the galaxy by enemy grenades or guns than it was in this political labyrinth where I didn't even know which way was left and which right, and which up and which down anymore. This was the deadlier combat and neither Anakin nor I were prepared to face it. It was a battle with the night elements of oneself, and we weren't ready for that. We had to get back into the field where we could just mow down the foe, instead of looking him in the eye everyday in the mirror.

"What for?" Anakin asked.

"He wouldn't say." I shrugged, but my tone conveyed my disapproval. Palpatine was pushing the bounds of his tenuous relationship between himself and the Council with this action. Since Anakin was a Jedi, it would have been proper to abide by the centuries' old tradition of requesting the Council's permission to meet with him beforehand. Not doing so was a calculated snub, and a shrewd political mind like Palpatine understood it, which made it all the more deliberate, and all the more anathema in the Council's eyes.

"The Chancellor didn't inform the Jedi Council?" he echoed incredulously. "That's unusual, isn't it?"

Unusual. That was the understatement of the millennium. It was akin to calling Anakin a "not bad" pilot. While it was accurate, it didn't go nearly far enough as far as an appropriate description was concerned.

"_All_ of this is unusual," I agreed, because I couldn't invent a better adjective to describe the maze we were all blundering around in like blind womprats frantically searching for the exit while we wondering how exactly we had fallen into this mess. Then, because two of us could play the game of understatement, I added, "It's making me feel uneasy. Relations between the Chancellor and the Council are stressed."

Uneasy. I was uneasy the way Hoth was chilly, and the relations between the Chancellor and the Council were almost as strained as they were between Palpatine and the Separatists, and the Council and the Separatists.

"I know the Council has grown wary of the Chancellor's power." Anakin's scowl deepened, carving craters on his cheeks. Obviously, he loathed having to pick one side or the other in conversation, but he might as well get used to it now. He'd be doing it constantly until he could escape this horrible, bewildering, and exhausting planet, and he could zap that and send it to the bank for cash. "But aren't we all working together to save the Republic? Why all this distrust?"

_Because beings can be performing more than one thing at a time__― it's called multitasking, and Palpatine is a master at that,_ I thought. _The Chancellor can work to rescue the Republic from the Separatist menace, while simultaneously striving to increase his own power. Worse still, if we don't pay attention, he'll have too much power by the time the war is over, and he'll be our new adversary, and he'll be a more lethal one than the Separatists under Dooku ever were. _

Yet, I couldn't voice such sentiments aloud, even in the Jedi Temple. Who could be certain if this room hadn't been installed with mini holocameras to commit espionage on the Jedi by Palpatine? Maybe the Chancellor didn't even require the latest gadgets. Perhaps he could rely on the oldest method of spying: the double agent. Suddenly, my mind reeled as I had the epiphany that I no longer could be positive of where Anakin's ultimate allegiance lay. Perhaps he would slip to Palpatine if I expressed such notions aloud, and that would not be a good thing.

My sentiments leaped over seditious, and into treasonous, and that was one realm I did not want to visit, since the views weren't worth the capital punishment. Besides, surely if such a truth was as clear as transparisteel to me, Anakin would recognize it as well.

I wished I could believe that, but I couldn't, as I had faith in nothing and nobody anymore. This was how they― the Chancellor, the Council, and everybody else― ripped Anakin and me apart. They manipulated our minds and our hearts so that we could not trust each other anymore than we could ourselves. They made us feel so dreadfully alone in the galaxy that we forgot that we had each other. This was how they divided us so that they could conquer us. They twisted us until we forgot that we were everything together, and nothing apart.

Dimly, I saw this, but I could do nothing about it. I was already trapped in the glimmersilk spider's web, and I could not get out anymore than the spider's prey could. I was captured and just waiting to be eaten alive, so all I said to Anakin was, "The Force grows dark. We are all affected by it. Be wary of your feelings."

Anakin nodded as if he understood, and maybe he did. Maybe he, too, was being shoved ever deeper into the shadows. As we parted paths, and he headed off to catch the shuttle to the Chancellor's, I could only hope that he would take care. If he didn't, I knew the consequences would be enormous, and I could only wish that I had been better at warning him of the dangers he faced.

My ruminations were interrupted when my comlink buzzed. When I answered it, Yoda's gravelly voice reached my ears as if we were side by side, "Mace Windu and I a meeting with you would like to have in my quarters now about the Chancellor."

Ah, so we would already be discussing Palpatine's decision to avoid us in arranging his visit with Anakin.

"I'll head there now, then," I educated him and switched off the communication. My plans to mediate and perhaps find an answer to all the inquiries shooting around my head like blaster bolts would have to be tragically delayed. I owed it to the Jedi Order to meet with the two senior Council members whenever they requested it, even if I felt like my presence would provide no helpful insight.

As I walked toward Master Yoda's quarters, I reflected glumly on the fact that just a few years ago, I would have been excited by the honor of seeing the ancient Jedi Master in his private chambers. Now, while I still perceived it as an honor to be invited to meet with him there, it was a privilege, I would have been glad to do without. Unfortunately, you couldn't refuse the drawbacks of a responsibility once you had accepted a post. The Jedi relied on me, and I had to do my duty even if my heart wasn't in it, and even if I would have preferred to be meditating alone in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, striving desperately to uncover a strand of serenity in a soul that was swiftly surrendering to madness.


	8. Chapter 8

Dedication: Thanks so much to Jedi Master Misty Sman-Esay for emailing me a copy of the timeline of Episode III. It is immensely appreciated and deserving of a gigantic virtual hug.

Author's Note: Sorry it took me awhile to update, but I was busy, and I'm writing three fanfics at once, so I have to balance what I update when so nobody skewers me. Anyway, I hope this was worth the wait.

If This Be Treason…

When I arrived in Master Yoda's chambers after not taking any incorrect turbolifts since my feet were finally starting to recall the unique architecture of the Temple, I saw that Masters Yoda and Windu were already present and waiting for me with grim expressions tightening their features.

As I seated myself in one of the chairs that Yoda kept in his rooms to accommodate his humanoid guests, I ruminated on how the Dark Side was enveloping everything in a stifling cloud, corrupting everything and obstructing motives, and how, wherever there was smoke, there was a fire. The Dark Side was blinding everyone, and making the future as clear as swamp water. Between that and the Clone Wars, fear was creeping insidiously into the heart of the Jedi sanctuary, and fear was the path to wickedness. It was a vicious cycle: fear begot evil, and, in turn, the growing Dark Side spawned more terror. It was as self-perpetuating as politics in the Senate, which neither wanted nor required common voters.

Forcing such notions out of my mind, because such thoughts inspired a stomach-crunching horror in me that would lead me to the Dark Side if I wasn't extremely cautious, I listened as Yoda, shaking his head melancholically observed, "Moving to take control of the Jedi, the Chancellor is."

Just a year ago, I would have regarded such an assertion as being as alarmist as the ones circulated on the Holonet before the beginning of every new year that prophesized that the end of the universe was upon us at last. Now I knew better. Anything was possible in today's galaxy, and, as Palpatine's every action was devoted to enhancing his power, he would doubtlessly seek to dominate the Jedi if he could. As such, I only added wryly, "All on the pretext of greater security."

Honestly, it was amazing how rapidly sentients would relinquish rights that generations of their ancestors had struggled valiantly to acquire for them in exchange for empty promises of safety, which was comparable to trading in a thousand credit chip for a decicred at a bank. That was why security officers tapped every holo line, clone troopers stood guard in civilian shopping plazas on Coruscant stopping anyone that appeared suspicious and searching them without warrant, and why Palpatine was making a large number of decisions that historically had been in the territory of the courts or the entire Senatorial body to determine.

That was also why the few beings, such as Senator Amidala and Senator Organa, who protested this trampling― not infringing― upon the Constitution, were often labeled derisively as hysterical alarmists, although they weren't the ones chucking a thousand years of tradition down a garbage compressor in the name of a temporary assault on the Republic. Oh, yes, we lived in exciting times. Every day we got to learn about both battles and newly invented executive prerogatives that had been devised by the Chancellor's office. Such gripping news kept all of us on our toes.

Still, my sarcasm couldn't blunt all the astonishment that deluged me when I heard that the Chancellor was actually petitioning the Senate for the right to control the Jedi. The fact that I had anticipated such a maneuver did not lessen the shock I felt when the blow finally landed.

Of course, I had reason to be astounded. After all, ever since the days of the Sith Wars, it had been the law that the Senate commanded the Jedi, not the Chancellor. However, for centuries, it had been the custom that the Senate did not order the Jedi about. No, they requested Jedi intervention, and the Council made the ultimate ruling about whether Jedi interference was truly necessary. By seeking to curtail our traditional autonomy, what was Palpatine aiming to achieve? Was it merely further glorification of his exalted personage or something more sinister?

"I sense a plot to destroy the Jedi," commented Mace Windu through a clenched jawbone, answering the inquiry I had not possessed the guts to voice aloud. In fact, I had scarcely had the nerve to shape it in my head. After all, it bordered on treason, and that was a dark and dangerous idea to have in the current ambiguous galaxy.

When he established as much, Yoda shot him a reproving scowl. Over the time I had been on the Council, I had learned that the ancient, diminutive Jedi Master adopted this disapproving look whenever he deemed that someone, in this case, Master Windu, was being paranoid and spotting conspiracies and ambushes where, in reality, there were none.

Responding with a glower that implied Master Windu perceived Yoda was taking too long and too patient a stance as a result of spending over eight hundred years training Jedi, Mace continued resolutely, "The Dark Side of the Force surrounds the Chancellor."

"As it surrounds the Separatists," I mused, elaborating on my earlier reflections. "There is a shifting in the Force― all of us feel it. If the Chancellor is being influenced by the Dark Side, then this war may be a plot by the Sith to take over the Republic."

There. I had said it. I had stated our worst fears aloud, so they could be scrutinized with appropriate academic detachment befitting mature Jedi. It was my duty to do so, even though I could hardly bear to contemplate the idea I had just expressed, since it was difficult to even consider the fact that all the sweat and blood that Anakin, the other Jedi, and myself had poured into the crusade against the Separatists was a pointless sacrifice that played directly into the hands of the Sith.

"Speculation!" snorted Yoda, waving his gimer stick about to convey his vexation with Mace's and my conspiracy theories. Yet, in my emotionally troubled condition, the motion of his cane reminded me of a magic wand in a crèche tale. Maybe the inner youngling in me, which I had suspected, apparently quite erroneously, had perished at least a decade ago, was hoping that he could be the benevolent elderly wizard who could set all the problems in the universe right with such a simple gesture. The brain was a very rambunctious entity, after all, and could never really be subdued.

I rejoined the present moment as Yoda resumed, his pointed gaze at Mace and me illustrating that he thought that if both of us combined our brains we'd be halfwits, "On theories such as these, we cannot act. _Proof _we need before taking this to the Council."

Yes, but how do we attain proof? I wondered. We couldn't wait forever for it. If we did, we would lose the advantages of time and surprise. After all, you didn't wait for proof of a Separatist invasion or attack to fortify the bastion, because by then it would be too late to save yourself and your troops. That was something we couldn't risk happening to the Republic or the Jedi. Then again, if we acted too soon, we risked blundering and giving the edge to our opponents. It was a fine line we walked, then.

Wonderful. If we took a step, we would tumble into a chasm, but if we remained stationary, a salivating beast would devour us. To borrow a phrase form dejarick, we were forked, which basically meant we had the magnificent opportunity of selecting our own doom, indicating the especial fondness the Force harbored for us Jedi, since most individuals did not have the chance to pick their own demises.

Just as I was thinking this seditious notion, the Force deigned to favor me with a flash of insight into this cryptic matter. Sharing my surge of enlightenment with my companions, I answered my own mental question, "The proof will come once Grievous is gone."

While I gazed on, Master Windu and Master Yoda swapped glances. It seemed my conclusion satisfied them both, because Mace's lips pursed. Then, he articulated the remark that the rest of us had tip-toed around as if it were a grenade that would detonate if we approached it too closely, "If the Chancellor does not end this war with the destruction of General Grievous, he must be removed from office."

Removed from office. There was a phrase that could be interpreted in numerous fashions. It was loaded with the euphemisms I typically mocked, yet I couldn't do so now. At the moment, my blood was ice, my heart wasn't beating, my stomach was knotting, and my lungs weren't functioning. This discussion didn't just border on treason. No, it leaped merrily over that distinction. Yet, my duty was to the ideals and the citizens of the Republic, not the corrupt Chancellor who was perverting every sacred principle of it. To protect the Republic, I would oust him from power if I had to and if it was the last thing I did.

Still, it was a pity, as I had often realized numbly before many a confrontation with the Separatists, that I had but one life to give for the Republic. After all, if I had possessed more, I wouldn't have cared about laying it down so much, and I wouldn't be so nervous right now. Of course, if I had multiple lives like a linki cat, it would be less of a sacrifice if I died heroically for my commitment to the Republic and the values it was intended to embody.

"You mean arrested?" I pressed as soon as I had the oxygen it required to perform this onerous task. Moving my lips, which had suddenly been coated with permacrete, it seemed, was also no lean feat, either, I discovered. By posing this query, I hoped to not only inject a measure of restraint into the proceedings, but also to raise the criminal charges that could be brought against my person if it ever uncovered that this exchange had unfolded. Now, I could be indicted for encouraging the overthrow of the Chancellor, instead of just collusion. Well, at least prison food couldn't be worse than GAR rations, and you could do a lot of meditating in jail.

In reply, Mace shrugged slightly. A foreboding shudder rippled through my whole frame. This gesture meant that my fellow Council member was willing to do anything― even kill― the Chancellor to destabilize him if it became necessary. That brought up a very crucial issue. Was I capable of going that far? Did the ends justify the means in this instance?

I couldn't reach such a monumental conclusion at the moment, especially because I was a bit preoccupied with not hyperventilating. Besides, the mere fact that treason was making sense to be was an indicator that my medicine needed to be upped.

"To a dark place, this line of thought will take us," murmured Yoda, reading the words right off my heart as easily as if they were typed on a datascreen before him. "Great care we must take."

There's no arguing with that, I noted inwardly. For a few moments, we all sat quietly in our chairs, immobilized by Yoda's pronouncement. Then, Mace Windu cleared his throat and declared, "The Council meeting starts in five minutes. We'd better head to the Council chamber. We don't want to be late, after all."

That was a brilliant proposal, I told myself as the three of us rose and exited Yoda's quarters, because who knew what the other members of the Council would do if the senior Council members were absent? As I strolled down the corridor to a bank of turbolifts that allowed access to the Council chamber located in one of the Temple's towering spires, I envisioned the rest of the Council scribbling with holomarkers on the walls and bouncing on the cushioned seats.

That image was so hilarious and I was under enough stress to seize frantically at any form of humorous release that I almost grinned. Luckily, I stifled the impulse by reminding myself of how touchy Mace Windu could be about being the brunt of a joke, seeing as he had the sense of humor characteristic of the average wrathful nexu. Even better, Mace's comlink beeped at that instant, and, muttering an apology, he withdrew it from his pocket, walked ahead of us, and spoke into it. 

"Master Kenobi, a word with you I would like to have," announced Yoda in his gravelly tone as Mace Windu strode on ahead briskly.

I had superskytowers full of reverence for the aged Jedi Master's reputed wisdom, but my knees were transfigured to durasteel when I heard him make this declaration. Over the course of my existence, I had discovered that when beings sought to brace a listener for the news they were about to impart in lieu of coming right out and saying the truth, the revelation was going to be an awful one. After all, people never stalled for no reason― they were always attempting futilely to stave off some horror.

Therefore, my initial, savage instinct was to shout that I didn't want to have any more conversations with anyone at the present, and that never would be a splendid time for us to discuss whatever was on his mind. All I wished to do was be alone for awhile. Then, I could figure out what I thought and felt. I needed to by myself. I was an introvert, and I would go utterly insane without an opportunity to recharge my battered brain.

Still, when Yoda wanted to address something with you, you would never get peace or silence until he was mollified. Besides, when I had accepted my post, I had signed up for this.

"Go on. I'm all ears," I urged Yoda, waving my hand for him to continue.

"Spoke with your former Padawan this morning, I did," began Yoda. When he established as much, I blinked.

So that was where Anakin had been this morning. Well, that was impressive, since he didn't set much in store by Yoda's advice, because Anakin and Yoda had a relationship of almost chronic disapproval of each other. I suppose that it was just another indication of Anakin's increasing maturity that he would seek out Yoda's counsel at all. Yet, if he had been with Yoda, why hadn't he informed me of this earlier? If he had a legitimate excuse for missing an important briefing, why didn't he share it?

Barely a nanosecond after these inquiries lanced through my mind, I chuckled mentally. Honestly, after all these years alongside Anakin, I should have comprehended that he had to deal with things in his own particular and peculiar terms, which often made no sense to me or anyone else in the galaxy.

Still, it was that unpredictability that I treasured so much in my former apprentice. It reminded me so much of Qui-Gon, and, while a straight line might be the most efficient route from one point to another as well as being the trail I would select, a curve was the loveliest way to travel from place to place. There was something to be admired about having dash, style, and charisma, all of which were elements that Anakin possessed in abundance. His legion would follow him anywhere, including into the underworlds depicted in many mythologies on countless planets, and that wasn't just because they had been genetically modified to fight when most humans would have fainted or peed in their pants, nor was it out of a morbid curiosity. No, it was simply because they were attracted to the magnet that was the Hero with No Fear and the Warrior of the Infinite.

When Yoda hesitated for a second too long, I opened my mouth to offer my standard disclaimer. I was not responsible for anything that came out of Anakin's mouth. He was a Knight in his own right now, and I couldn't lecture him for calling Yoda a useless gnome anymore. Besides, it was not as if I had ever really been able to control my unruly Padawan. In fact, in my most optimistic estimate, he obeyed me roughly fifty-five percent of the time, and that was only when he wished to do so. For the most part, I had come to terms with his fiercely independent nature, and I yearned for the rest of the Council to make similar adjustments. Anyway, if people really had problems with Anakin, they should address their complaints to him. Whatever other faults he had, Anakin was blunt. Therefore, he would much rather air a dispute than leave it to fester.

However, before I could detail any of this, Yoda held up his cane to chop off my speech. "No, Master Kenobi. I talk; you listen. Come to see me this morning for advice Young Skywalker did. Disturbed he was very. Nightmares have been plaguing him, he said. About the death of someone close to him they were, he explained to me."

"That's not surprising," I muttered, stroking my beard. "Nightmares have always dogged Anakin."

That was certainly accurate, even if it was an understatement. Phantoms hounded him every time he drifted off to sleep. Ever since I had met him, he slept fitfully, and was prone to awakening, howling, in the middle of the night. In fact, it sometimes seemed that he could only keep the nightmares at bay through a punishing regime of training, exercise, and constant work. This meant that after a day of intense labor that few sentients could have withstood, Anakin would rely on stimcaf and a touch of meditation supplemented with a meager, dreamless slumber to restore his energy and his strength. It was a game that he had managed to continue for so long only because he had more energy and strength in him than anyone I had ever met, but he couldn't maintain it forever. It would kill him.

What killed me was that I could do nothing to ease his suffering. Whenever I glanced at his face, which was always blazing with the ferocity of a candle battling to glow on in a windstorm, I knew in my bones that he would never live to see his golden years. His candle would flicker out long before his legend ever did. Anyone that intense would burn out their life force soon, and it would happen even more rapidly if the reservoirs of strength were always drawn on but never replenished.

Sometimes, as un-Jedi-like as it sounded, I hated the Force for its callousness when it had packaged so many midichlorians into Anakin's cells. Obviously, the Force had never considered that he would be forever at the mercy of his power, because nobody, least of all him, would recognize how to not let it control him. Yes, it would permit him to perform jaw-dropping feats, such as defying the laws of physics with his return to Coruscant in a ruined craft yesterday, but it would exact a dreadful toll on him. It would eat him raw.

Worse still, his own power tortured Anakin. No matter what anyone contended on the contrary, my best friend understood that with great power came equally extensive obligations. He was determined to fulfill his responsibilities, which explained his drive to be appointed to the Council at his young age― he had to be the best since to be otherwise would render him a failure. As a perfectionist, I had never been able to teach Anakin how to accept failure. Maybe I had even made his thirst for perfection worse. I couldn't say, but I was well aware that my former Padawan wasn't just cursed with nightmares when he was on his sleep couch.

"Say who his dreams were about, your stubborn friend would not," Yoda educated me. "However, deduce I did that it was you whom about the nightmares were. Of the Jedi, closest to him you are. Think I do that talk to him you should."

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, my forehead knitting with concentration.

"His best friend and former Master, you are," Yoda reasoned. "Know him best, you do. Decide for yourself, you should. Old Yoda's advice useful the first time around he did not find. Doubt I do that care for it anymore he will when a second helping of it he has had."

"I see your point." I nodded my comprehension. Yet, I had no clue what I would say to console Anakin. After all, it was not as though we ever really discussed death, even though we were engulfed by it. Perhaps it was a denial of how near we were to it, maybe the fact that it was such a constant part of our existences made it something we didn't want to converse about if we had a choice, or maybe, since it was so commonplace, it was silly to comment on it, just as one wouldn't remark on how the lights turned on when you flicked on a light switch.

Now that I had to speak to him about it, I had no idea how to reassure him. As I was engaged in interstellar warfare, I could not swear that I wasn't going to die anytime soon without telling a blatant falsehood, and Anakin wanted the truth more than anything. Well, perhaps I could take a more metaphysical approach by informing him that if I passed away, he might occasionally hear my voice in his head the way I did Qui-Gon's, and, thus, I would never truly leave him. Then, he could find out how aggravating it was to be unable to argue with somebody who, in the strictest, most objective perception of reality, didn't actually exist, or at least not in any corporeal sense.

A second after this notion left my mind, an epiphany rammed through my brain. Force, I was an imbecile. Anakin never had nightmares about me, which was either a compliment because he assumed that I could tend to my own survival, or else an insult because he didn't like me enough to have nightmares about my death. Logically, as Anakin never was haunted by nightmares about me, they must be about someone else. Someone like Padme, the woman whom Anakin had loved ever since he was nine.

No, I decided, I wouldn't mention his bad dreams to Anakin. It was our policy not to discuss his feelings for Padme. If he needed my guidance, he knew that I'd always be willing to provide it. It might not be the most brilliant advice in the galaxy, but it was preferable to nothing. Anyway, if he sought me out, he might listen more attentively.

At this juncture, my conversation with Yoda was interrupted by the arrival of a tempestuous Mace.

"Bad news?" I inquired as he joined us. Abruptly, I longed to holler down the hallway, demanding if anyone had any good news at all. Who knew? Maybe an initiate had done fabulously on an exam they had envisioned that they had failed.

"The Chancellor has gotten the control over us that he wanted," Mace updated us crisply, not bothering to sugarcoat the news, as was his habit. I barely had the time necessary to note to myself that Senators did not mind surrendering ancient prerogatives in exchange for support on modern bills for those who had funded their campaigns before Mace Windu added another verbal slap. "He wished to have a voice on the Council, and, unsurprisingly, he has chosen young Skywalker for the job."

"Excuse me?" I stared at him, pondering if I should fetch Jar Jar to translate his words into Basic for me. Then, before Mace could repeat himself, I rallied my wits. "Never mind. I heard you the first time. What I meant was more along the lines of 'What are we gong to do?'"

We couldn't refuse the appointment, and we couldn't accept it. Now we were truly forked. Although I was a skilled dejarick player since I naturally perceived the world in the long view, I surmised that Palpatine was clearly the master of it. And I didn't like Anakin being one of his monsters. Yet, what could I do to assist him? I was just another piece in the game myself, and so I could not rescue him. But I had told him to be careful, so why hadn't he listened to me, blast it? Now, whatever happened, he was going to be caught in the crossfire, and people caught in the crossfire always got severely or fatally wounded.

"Decide we will in the Council," ruled Yoda firmly, as we finally reached the turbolifts, and rode up to the Council chamber in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Happy Easter to all Christians, and a good Passover to all Jewish people. I hope you enjoy my Pascal special.

Some of the conversation before Anakin comes in is from Matt Stover's novelization, but most of it is my invention.

Reviews: Reviewers will receive virtual chocolate bunnies if they remember to bug me about it. (It's like that free plasma TV you get when you sign up for Verizon FIOS. If you nag customer service that doesn't speak English nine million times, you'll receive it.)

Trivia: Name the work of literature and provide the name of its creator from which I derived this chapter's title, and you'll get a dedication next chapter for your literary IQ.

Foul is Fair

"We have a major problem to contend with," pronounced Master Windu baldly, starting the Council meeting, as usual, once everyone was present, whether in a physical or hologramical sense, and seated. At his grim words, the concentration level in the chamber skyrocketed up by ten percent, since Master Windu was prone to exaggerating as grannies were to earning speeding tickets. Thus, if he described something as a "major problem," it was probably nothing short of a karking catastrophe. "The Senate, showing that the institution is indeed the kindest mental hospital ever devised by sentients, has voted to hand the Chancellor's authority over the Jedi."

"That's nonsense," blustered Plo Koon's hologram, bristling in his bridge on the _Courageous_, from which he directed GAR troops in the Ywllandr system. "You can't bequeath authority you don't possess in the first place anymore than you can construct an edifice by building the attic before the basement."

"But, legally, have control over the Jedi the Senate did for centuries, although forbade custom did them from exercising such power for centuries," countered Yoda, his convoluted green ears drooping.

"Exactly, and the Chancellor will argue that makes us an aristocracy in charge of enforcing the law from a comfortable, lofty position above it. As such, we are a perilous elite whose historic privileges must be curtailed to further the interests of democracy," I added, shaking my head in disgust. If the Chancellor was so committed to destroying the aristocracy, why didn't he put a halt to the robber barons and their ilk? Probably because such contingencies paid his bills, offering him millions of credits to turn a blind eye to their activities.

The Jedi were no aristocracy, and anyone intelligent enough to access the Holonet knew it. We were drawn from all classes, had renounced our birthrights and surrendered our biological families, and served all of society, not any class. If anything, we were the opposite of an aristocracy. Unfortunately, though, demagogues such as Palpatine were rarely concerned with the truth. In fact, they tended to avoid it like the Toli-X Virus, because it seldom advanced their political aspirations.

"Now that the Chancellor has control over the Jedi, he has decided that he would care for a voice on the Council," continued Mace, his tone conveying his revulsion at the notion. "Naturally, since he is busy governing the Senate, he does not have the time to attend our meetings. Therefore, he wishes Anakin Skywalker to have a seat on the Council to function as his representative."

"We should permit Anakin a position on the Council, but not promote him to the rank of Master. Thus, we assert that we still have authority over who becomes a Master and who doesn't," reasoned Shaak Ti, who was up to her wiles again. "That's an intentional snub to the Chancellor, and a challenge to his power that will demonstrate to him that he plays with fire when he messes with us, because our Order is not about to role over and pretend to be dead."

Although Shaak Ti's logic normally left me gasping several kilometers behind her intuition, this time I suspected that her analysis was inaccurate. That is, Palpatine wouldn't give a decicred what title the Council bestowed on Anakin as long as he was granted a post on the Council. If Anakin could protect the Chancellor's interests, he wouldn't care if Anakin were the honorary refresher cleaner.

No, it was my best friend who would be stung by the Council's refusal to allow him the rank of Master. It would rankle with him, because, in his personal manner of perceiving the universe, it would register as another attempt, born of jealousy, to prevent him from achieving his destiny. To him, it would be another barb― another refusal to train him, and another delaying of his elevation to Knighthood despite all his heroics in the Clone Wars in favor of some less competent Padawan. Of course, his focus on getting promoted would only reinforce the Council's view that he was too emotionally volatile for the honor. It was a vicious self-fulfilling prophecy that would only widened the gulf between my former apprentice and the Council.

Yet, I didn't think that Anakin was ready to be on the Council, either, because if it was driving my crazy, it would ruin my best friend, since he already lived on the edge. As such, I remained quiet, judiciously determining that it was prudent to keep my mouth shut as an idiot's silence was often misconstrued as wisdom, while Mace Windu stated, "I concur with Master Tiin. If we put Skywalker on the Council but don't grant him the title of Master, he'll realize that if he wants to be elevated to the rank of Master, he'll need to please us, not the Chancellor. Then, we can use him to spy on Palpatine― to report to us on his actions."

"The vibroknife he thought to plant in our chest, in his own back will land," Yoda murmured, nodding his approval of this strategy.

Had either of them ever met this Anakin Skywalker they were discussing so casually? Or were they talking about a different Anakin Skywalker, not the one who, as a liberated slave, could not tolerate being manipulated?

Maybe the one they were conversing about could also perform the trick― lying― that was the most essential component of any spy's kit, since the Anakin I was familiar with could not spin a convincing falsehood to save his neck.

In fact, his ability to lie was summed up quite eloquently in an incident when he was sixteen and a princess had asked him if he thought a particular gown made her appear pudgy. He had replied that it was she who made herself look fat, not the dress. When the princess feigned an illness to avoid attending the party, Anakin responded to my suggestion that next time it would be more tactful to assure her that she didn't appear overweight or to remind her of how a different color flattered her better, he had shrugged and asked why she had posed an inquiry she didn't desire an honest answer to. He was still that blunt and naïve. He simply couldn't lie, no matter how hard he tried.

"Disagree with us you do, Master Kenobi," observed Yoda astutely, noting my unease, which must have broadcasted itself across my features.

"I do," I admitted, borrowing some of Anakin's bluntness. "Simply put, I doubt Anakin can perform the task you plan to delegate to him."

"You don't trust him?" demanded Mace Windu, his eyes narrowing as he launched into attack mode. Listening to him, I reflected on how I would always cherish my Padawan misconception that the Council was a single, unified body that reached decisions harmoniously. Now that I was on it, I recognized that its members were lucky when they could agree on what sheen the sky was, nonetheless anything of any real significance to the Jedi or anyone else, for that matter.

"Yes, of course I trust him," I explained with all the patience I could muster, holding back a nasty retort about how I was the only one here who had any faith in Anakin at all. After all, such a claim, while very gratifying to the temper, would only result in a crèche-like spat, and there wasn't time to indulge in that folly. This job was a thankless one, but I had to complete it to the best of my capabilities, because I obviously had a lot of bad karma to burn. "We can always rely on Anakin to do what he thinks is right. However, we can't trust him to simply obey. Believe me. I've been trying for many years."

And I had only recently given up attempting the impossible, finally comprehending that you couldn't compel someone who equated compliance with slavery to just obey. Perhaps he wasn't wrong when he equaled obedience with slavery, but what he didn't understand was that nobody was free.

Everyone was chained by obligations to others. Life was really just centered around finding something you were willing to be used by, allowing yourself to be manipulated, and maybe, if you were especially lucky, you even got the invaluable opportunity to do some using of your own. That was all duty boiled down to, and that, I surmised, was why the Council would strive to employ me to persuade Anakin to serve their ends. All human interactions were just political in the final examination, after all.

"An unintentional opportunity, the Chancellor has given us," Yoda contended, his eyes expanding to emphasize his point. "A viewport he has opened into the operations of his office. Fools we would be not to take it."

"Then we should use someone else's eyes," I persisted. "Forgive me, Master Yoda, but you just don't know him the way I do― none of you do. He is fiercely loyal, and there is not a gram of deception in him." Seriously, most three-year-olds had more effective sabaac faces. That was why Cody, Rex, and I took pity on him and did not engage in such games with him anymore in our precious little downtime. After all, doing so probably violated the clause that prohibited cruel and unusual punishment in our Republic's already shredded Constitution, which I could not bring myself to rend for such a frivolous issue. "You've all seen it. It's one of the arguments that some of you, here in this very room, have used against elevating him to Master: he lacks proper Jedi reserve, you've said. By that, we all mean that he wears his emotions like a holobanner. How can you ask him to lie to a friend― to spy on him?"

"That's why we must call on a friend to ask him," declared Agen Kolar in his gentle, understated Zabrak baritone. It didn't require the utilization of half of one's brain cells to conclude that he was referring to me. Clearly, I was right: the Council wanted to use my relationship with Anakin against Palpatine. If Anakin or I got wounded in the process, it was just too bad for us. We would just be two more casualties in the endless political battles that were waged on Coruscant.

"You don't understand," I stuttered out the first protest that bubbled to my lips. "Don't make him choose between Palpatine and me―"

"Why not?" cut in Plo Koon. Displaying that he had no compunction about delivering low blows, he pressed, "Do you fear that you would lose such a contest?"

"You don't know how much Palpatine's friendship has meant to him over the years," I argued, evading the question.

The truth was that I was afraid to contemplate it at length. Yes, Anakin was dedicated to me, but ever since he had become my Padawan, I had the distinct impression that whatever affection I showed him was never enough to satisfy his thirst for love and approval. There was always the chance that he would prefer the constant praise to the honest, but sparing compliment. You could never be certain with beings, and currently I was reluctant to have faith in anybody or anything, since it was only believers who were disappointed, and the dubious occasionally got to be pleasantly surprised when people were revealed as better-than-anticipated. I hoped that he could see that your true friend was the one who told you when your face was dirty, but I couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

That was why I despised Coruscant. All its sparkling neon lights, its stunning structures, its monuments, and its delicious eateries did not even begin to compensate for how nauseatingly political this place was. None of its vaunted splendors made up for how it muddled everything, even once straightforward allegiances, how it clouded every heart and mind, how it transfigured allies into adversaries and friends into foes, and how one went insane merely because one could never be alone with one's thoughts. On Coruscant, one felt isolated in the middle of a sea of indifferent individuals. Nobody could survive here, and if it was killing me, I couldn't even picture what it must be doing to Anakin.

Erasing such dispiriting ideas from my mind, I elaborated, "You're asking him to use that friendship as a weapon with which to stab his friend in the back! Don't you understand what this will cost him, even if Palpatine is entirely innocent? No, especially if he's innocent. Their relationship will never be the same―"

"And that may be the best argument in favor of this plan," clinched Master Windu, his dark eyes like durasteel. "I have told you all what I have seen of the energy between Skywalker and the Supreme Chancellor. As such, anything that might distance Skywalker from Palpatine's influence is worth the attempt."

Glancing around at the expressions on the faces of the other Council members, I didn't have to reach out into the web of the Force to discern that, no matter how long I debated, I would not win. The hand I had been dealt just wasn't strong enough to do so. Now I had to fold and minimize my losses. Oh, well, I shouldn't be too depressed. After all, the next best thing to playing and winning was playing and losing.

"I will, of course, abide by the ruling of this Council," I announced, inclining my head to concede the argument.

"Doubt of that, none of us has," Yoda assured me, but the words did not register as a compliment to me. To me, they seemed more like a criticism. They just reaffirmed how easy I was to ride over. Nobody would ever have said that about Anakin or Qui-Gon. Neither of them would have done their duty if they deemed it as against their conscience. Of course, neither of them had been made Masters on the Council, either, so neither of them had as many responsibilities as I did.

When I was his Padawan, I had imagined that Qui-Gon's assertions that he didn't wish to be on the Council in response to my hints that he would be on the Council if he just stopped arguing with them so much was either a psychological defense mechanism or else was a method of deflecting a pesky apprentice's questions, but now I thought differently. Now I saw why it wasn't so great to be a Council member. In fact, at the moment, I would have been glad to trade this job for whatever was behind door number one on any hologame show.

"But if to be done it is, decide we must how best to use him," Yoda continued, turning to gaze at the rest of the congregation.

"I, too, have reservations on this matter, but it seems that in these desperate times, only desperate measures have a hope of success," remarked Ki-Adi-Mundi, his hologram flickering as he leaned forward, his hands folded as he ruminated aloud. "We have seen that young Skywalker has the power to battle as Sith Lord alone if need be― he has proven that with Dooku. If he is indeed the Chosen One, we must keep him in a position to fulfill his destiny."

"Even if the prophecy has been misread, Anakin is the one Jedi we can best hope would survive an encounter with a Sith Lord," Agen Kolar contributed, and I couldn't argue with that, even in my head. After all, my best friend was definitely among the most skilled swordsman in the Order, and he could hold his own against just about any opponent in the galaxy. In a lightsaber duel, he was without peer, but the problem was, in other fights, he wasn't as impregnable. "So let us also use him to help us set our trap. In Council, let us emphasize that we are intensifying our search for Grievous. Anakin will certainly report this to the Chancellor. Perhaps that will draw Sidious into action."

"It may not be enough," mused Mace Windu, his swarthy forehead furrowing. "Let us take this one step further. We should appear short-handed and weak, providing Sidious with an opening to make a move he believes will go unobserved. I'm thinking that perhaps we should let the Chancellor know that Yoda and I have both been forced to take the field―"

"Too risky, that is," interjected Yoda, shaking his head in negation. "Too convenient, it will seem. One of us only should go."

"Then it should be you, Master Yoda," pronounced Agen Kolar. "It is your sensitivity to the broader currents of the Force that a Sith Lord has most reason to fear."

All around the chamber, heads bobbed in affirmation, seconding Agen Kolar's reasoning. Accepting the vote, Yoda agreed solemnly, "The Separatist attack on Kashyyyk, a compelling excuse will make. Good relations I have with the Wookies, so destroy the droid armies I can, and still be available to Coruscant should Sidious take our bait."

"Very well," Master Windu commented, "and one last final touch. Let's allow the Chancellor to know, via Anakin, that our most cunning and insightful master― and our most tenacious― is to lead the hunt for Greivous."

"Then Sidious will need to act, and act quickly if the war is to be maintained," Plo Koon muttered approvingly, as Yoda, Shaak Ti, Agen Kolar, and Ki-Adi-Mundi nodded in confirmation, as well.

That appeared to be a brilliant enough ploy, but I couldn't shake of the feeling that I was not quite on the same holopage that everyone else was reading. Hoping to catch up, I said, "This sounds like a good plan, but what Master do you have in mind?"

For a moment, nobody answered, as though they were all astonished that I would pose such a ludicrious inquiry. More bewildered than ever, I stared around at my companions, and it was several more seconds later that it finally dawned on me that they were all looking at me. Splendid. They were talking about me. If they perceived me as such, I felt very sorry for our Order, because we had fallen very far, indeed, after all.

When it was plain by my gaping jaw that I had finally comprehended whom they were referencing, Mace Windu reclined back in his chair, waving a palm at the doors that permitted access to the chamber. "Let's call in Skywalker, then."

Well, that was definitely a bright proposal. After all, we were lucky that Anakin, who was waiting outside, hadn't kicked in the door by now in his impatience.

As Anakin entered and stood in the center of the room, I braced myself for the scene that was about to unfold. When he learned that he wouldn't have the title of Master, Anakin would be as far from happy as the permacrete surface of Coruscant was removed from the spires of Five Hundred Republica. Worse still, I couldn't shake off the harrowing sensation that I had betrayed him. Yet, I hadn't. Blast it, it wasn't my fault that both the Council and Palpatine wanted to use him. It was his problem that he was in so much demand. Next time, he should make himself less popular. I had done what I could to rescue him, but it wasn't enough. Now, he had to manage for himself for awhile until I could come up with another plan to save him.

"Anakin Skywalker, we have approved your appointment to the Council as the Chancellor's representative," declared Mace Windu, starting with what Anakin would soon regard as the scant good news.

"I will do my best to uphold the principles of the Jedi Order," Anakin responded formally, although I could spot his elation as if he had written "I am happy" on his forehead in permanent holomarker. His delight made it even harder for me to watch what was about to occur. In fact, I briefly considered defenestrating myself, but then I determined that it was too cowardly for a war hero to do. Somehow, it required more guts to remain in this cushioned chair than it did to leap out of a skytower. Well, that just proved how horrible the chores that Anakin and I had been saddled with were.

"Allow this appointment lightly, the Council does not," warned Yoda, clearly detecting Anakin's pleasure and moving to stamp out his joy before it could rise any further. Whether this was an act of mercy or not was still a bone of contention among my multiple personalities. "Disturbing is this move by Chancellor Palpatine."

"I understand." Anakin's tone made it as plain as daylight that he comprehended the political implications of this quagmire we were all stuck in about as well as Jar Jar did the Theory of Unknowable Reality.

"You are on this Council, but we do not grant you the rank of Master." Mace's voice indicated that he doubted very much whether Anakin did understand what he had claimed to comprehend.

"How can you do this?" Anakin snapped, lashing out at the perceived insult as I had foreseen he would. His patience with the Council was always minimal, and today it had already been pushed with waiting outside for the Council to reach a decision on the Chancellor's "request." "I'm more powerful than any of you! How can I be on the Council and not be a Master?"

Don't do this, I pleaded with him mentally. Don't blow up. When you do so, you only reaffirm their decision. Keep your serenity. You do know how, and that's the only way you'll ever become a Master.

"Take your seat, young Skywalker." If my former Padawan was fire, Mace Windu was ice as he issued this command, his frigid manner conveying his disapprobation to anyone who wasn't deaf.

For a tense moment in which I couldn't breathe, I suspected that Anakin would retort because he never could accept being condescended to or brushed off. As a matter of fact, if you ever desired to aggravate him, you needed only to mention his youth. He hated being called "young" since it had connotations of weakness, inexperience, and stupidity. I could see him opening his mouth to volley back, but then he caught my eye and changed his mind.

Either he had concluded that this was a battle that he could not win and any further struggling would only weaken his stance, or else he just didn't want to distress me, because he clamped his jaw closed with what seemed to be an agonizing and prodigious effort. Then, he swallowed and worked to compose himself. Finally, he chocked out, every syllable obviously causing him anguish, "Forgive me, Master," and collapsed into one of the vacant chairs.

Now, though there were still splotches of pink ire on his cheeks, the fight had mostly been drained out of him. It was always like that with him. His anger would flare for awhile, and then it would recede just as rapidly and abruptly. His emotions were always changing, and he viewed it as a falsehood not to display the alterations in his mood. Still, he was making progress. After all, a few years ago, he would not have been able to regain any semblance of control over himself so swiftly. Perhaps he was finally starting to steady out.

At this juncture, Ki-Adi-Mundi cleared his throat, and everyone craned their necks to attend to him, eager to seize any switch of subject to relax some of the awkward atmosphere. "We have surveyed all systems in the Republic and have found no sign of General Grievous."

From there, it was easy to manipulate our meeting to land where we desired it to. Making our conversation sound natural, we maneuvered so that I was in charge of the hunt for Grievous, while Yoda was dispatched to Kashyyyk to deal with the Separatist assault on that planet.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: This is what happens when you have a week off of school and all your friends are on vacation. You start writing, and your fingers won't stop.

Dangerous Games

"What kind of nonsense is this?" Anakin seethed. That dreadful, seemingly endless Council meeting had finally terminated what felt like a decade late to preserve any vestige of lucidity present within me. Now, the two of us were walking down a deserted corridor in the Temple. My former apprentice was seizing the opportunity to vent his emotions after struggling to contain them in the conference earlier.

It never failed to take me aback how he was so open with what was occurring in his heart when I always had difficulty expressing myself. My problem wasn't just that revealing my feelings made me feel vulnerable. No, it was also the fact that, as descriptive as Basic was, it didn't have the adjectives it required to detail what was transpiring in the depths of my heart. When Basic invented words like "dreadnaciousness" and "malbominance" to convey a gut-squelching, brain-scrambling sensation of knowledge, fear, and loss blended together, I would talk about my feelings in great detail. If I was in the mood, that is.

The rant continued without pause as Anakin explained exactly which bit of folly he was discussing. That was charitable of him, since there was so much lunacy happening recently that it was challenging to keep track of which one you were talking about. "Put me on the Council and not make me a Master? That's never been done in the history of Jedi! It's insulting."

"Calm down," I strove to appease him. I had to soothe him if I was going to convince him to accept the Council's unofficial mission to spy on Palpatine, and I couldn't wait much longer to do so. Otherwise, I would lose my nerve. "You've been given a great honor. To be on the Council at your age has never happened before." Even Mace Windu was twenty-nine when he was appointed.

In response, Anakin snorted. It was really amazing how he managed to convey quite eloquently with that derisive noise that there had never been a Jedi as powerful as he was. Thus, in his opinion, this was a consolation akin to finding a decicred on the floor of your conapt after you had been robbed of a million credits.

Wishing ardently that he wouldn't focus on power so much, I sighed. Being a Jedi wasn't just about the strength of one's connection to the Force. A considerable fraction of it was about self-control, an attribute that he sorely lacked. Yet, I couldn't offer this well-intentioned tidbit of guidance. At the moment, Anakin would not appreciate it, because it didn't take the cleverness of a Gungan with sunstroke to deduce that he was ready to chomp someone's head off and spit it out to the Outer Rim. No, it would be solar systems more prudent to change the topic slightly and to take advantage of the chance to lead into politics.

"Listen to me, Anakin," I instructed him, and the seriousness in my tone grabbed his attention. "The fact is that you're too close to the Chancellor, and the Council doesn't like him interfering in Jedi affairs."

Ah, there was a prime demonstration of diplomatic understatement. The Council relished Palpatine's poking his oversized nose in our business about as much as most sentients delighted in being utilized as a chair by a Hutt.

At my assertion, Anakin ceased walking abruptly as he frequently did when a suspicion rammed into his head with the velocity of a battleship. "I swear to you, I didn't ask to be put on the Council," he declared vehemently. His eyes blazed with indignation that anyone would imagine that he would employ his friendship with the Chancellor in such a cunning manner.

It was reassuring to hear this passionate proclamation, because I was aware that the odds of him looking me in the eyes and lying were so slim that it would have given the most talented mathematician in the universe a migraine to calculate them. Craftiness wasn't wired into his DNA. Therefore, it would never have entered into his head to request that Palpatine aid him in his goal of being elevated to the Council. As a matter of fact, it was his utter inability to comprehend this sort of political maneuvering that had landed us both in our present crises.

"But it's what you wanted," I persisted, ruminating upon how empty dreams felt when you had attained them. After you had leaped over every barrier constructed by pitiless life, the reward was always hollow, proving that whoever misran the galaxy had an overdeveloped sense of irony. It was only when you arrived at the crest of the mountain and couldn't enjoy the vista for the fog that you recognized that the joy was in the ascent, not in the destination.

Of course, such illumination only came after you had journeyed to the pinnacle, since one never received experience until after one needed it. Now that you couldn't enjoy the trip, you saw all the pleasures you had raced over in your rabid lurch to the peak. Perhaps that was why no Jedi seemed truly merry. Crechelings longed to be initiates, initiates couldn't wait to be Padawans, Padawans wanted nothing more than to be Knights, Knights aspired to acquire the title of Master, and Masters, like me, dreamed of being crechelings again, although I would have settled for initiate or Padawan. As long as I could have more assurance in my abilities and could know that when things went awry as they inevitably would it wouldn't be my fault, I wasn't too picky.

Returning to the issue at hand since gloomy philosophical contemplations would get us nowhere, I added, "Regardless of how it happened, you find yourself in a delicate situation."

Delicate situation. There was a charming euphemism for being trapped in a pit of quicksand while two opposing armies lobbed missiles at your imprisoned form.

"You mean divided loyalties." Anakin's flat voice clearly expressed his misery and his consternation. In his mind, the war against the Separatists was the only one, and, thus, Palpatine and the Council were still on the same side and should not be assailing each other. Somehow, he still couldn't accept that there was a larger conflict occurring on Coruscant, which consigned the Clone Wars that had been our entire lives for three years into the role of annoyingly loud background music.

For whatever reason, he couldn't figure out that he had to pick a side in this fight. He couldn't remain neutral, and he would have to decide whether he was a Jedi or Palpatine's man soon. Yes, the choice would tear him in half, but neither the Council nor Palpatine would care a ronko's backside about that as long as they got what they desired.

In this galaxy, everyone manipulated everybody else, and sentients loved what other indivuals represented, not what they really were. After all, I would have testified in a court of law that it was only Padme, a few clone officers like Rex, and I who perceived Anakin Skywalker as more than just the Chosen One or a celebrated war hero. That's what rendered what I was about to do all the worse. Yet, it wasn't my blasted fault that this was about to happen.

"I_ warned_ you that there was tension between the Council and the Chancellor. I was very clear. Why didn't you listen?" I demanded, finishing my complaint aloud without even noticing that I had been lodging that ever since Anakin had first become my Padawan. If there was one characteristic about him that made my blood boil, it was that he never attended to the words that spilled out of anyone's lips, no matter how relevant they might be for his future welfare. In his world, talk must have been very cheap indeed because supply was always vastly exceeding demand. "You walked right into it."

Honestly, would I have to erect a flashing neon "Caution" holosign to hammer in my point next time? Of course, some of my frustration was probably rooted in my exasperation with my own inadequacies. Besides from the fact that many flaws in a pupil were the result of shortcomings in a mentor, I knew it was partly thanks to my actions― or lack thereof― that we were standing here. In the Council, I should have been more vocal in my dissent, and I should have refused to be the one who gave Anakin his covert operation.

And what good would that do? sneered the icily logical sector of my brain a nanosecond later. The Council would have done what it wished, regardless of your protests, and if you didn't speak to him, then someone else would have. That would only have been a coward's solution.

You still should have fought harder, chided the other half of my mind. Qui-Gon would have been very disappointed in you for surrendering so easily.

If I'm accountable for Anakin's flaws, then Qui-Gon's responsible for my shortcomings. As such, it's his fault that I didn't argue my case longer. After all, for all his chatter about following one's own instincts, he wasn't a fan of my heeding mine when they contradicted his. No, I had to grin― or grumble― and bear with whatever insanity he chose. We can't have too many chiefs, and I'm content with my position as tribesman, blasphemous as it might sound. I do what I'm told. That's my duty. Nothing outweighs my duty, retorted the rational segment of my head.

"The Council is upset because I'm the youngest ever to serve," Anakin interrupted my inner turmoil with a dismissal of my concerns.

"No, it is not," I countered irritably, lashing out at him instead of myself now. Could we possibly revert from an Anakin-centric perspective on everything for a minute and begin studying the big picture in lieu of that? While we were at it, could he stop with his talk about the Council's jealousy? It was making me anxious.

If you detected envy in others, you were probably being selfish or egotistical, which weren't Jedi traits. Worse yet, jealousy spawned wrath and resentment, two emotional tornadoes that were lethal to have raging inside one in such a tumultuous era. Now was a time when he needed to think with his head, not his heart, since feelings were simple to exploit, and, therefore, couldn't be trusted anymore.

My tone was sharp enough that Anakin stifled whatever contention he might have offered under other circumstances. The silence, which was far more deafening than if we had both bawled our lungs out at one another, that ensued in the hallway reminded me that I was supposed to be a model of serenity for him.

"Anakin, I worry when you speak of jealousy and pride," I remarked in milder voice when I recalled myself. "Those are not Jedi thoughts. They're dangerous, dark thoughts."

Oh, yes, I invested about twenty times as much brainpower fretting about the welfare of my former apprentice as I did worrying about myself. Here on Coruscant, I was far more concerned for him than I had ever been in the Clone Wars. On a field of battle, I was confident he could fend for himself. After all, he could defeat Count Dooku and Ventress in lightsaber duels, and in a cockpit he was without peer. He could pop enemy Destroyers like soap bubbles, and he could power-dive the wings off any vessel and hit a target the size of a pleeky on the way down at maximum speed. By comparison, any wingmate resembled a youngling who could barely hobble striving desperately to keep pace with a champion runner. Yet, the skills he had honed would be as useless as a lifeboat with a sizeable hole in its bottom here.

Besides, I worried when I saw the depth of his ire, when I glimpsed how quick he was too anger, and when I spotted how he still did not appreciate his own power. He had caused a ceiling to collapse on us on Tythe and hadn't realized that he could have killed us both by accident.

Then again, it was probably perfectly natural for a Master to fret over his or her Padawan, and I was an expert at worrying. Yes, I consoled myself, Anakin would probably be teaching his fifth apprentice and I would still be concerned about whether he was consuming enough calcium. Well, at least I'd have a purpose in life, however comically insignificant.

"Master, you of all people should have confidence in my abilities," my companion stated, and, wondering why everyone was so obsessed with capabilities when they were the least of my worries, I offered a small nod of concession. Apparently reassured by my affirmation, he pressed on, "I know where my loyalties lie."

"I hope so," I murmured, glancing at him and then gazing away as I observed that he was much brighter than me if that were true, because I had yet to reach a comfortable conclusion about where my primary commitment rested. When I determined that, I would be able to rid myself of my throbbing headache and my complementary heartache.

"I sense there's more to this talk than you're saying," commented Anakin, my reply obviously alerting him to this.

"Anakin, the only reason the Council approved your appointment is because the Chancellor trusts you," I began, and then trailed off when I discovered that I didn't have the words in my vocabulary bank necessary for me to continue with this explanation.

"And?" inquired Anakin, who was plainly as tired of my hints as someone who had dashed around the equator on Coruscant would be. Judging by his impatient manner, he was wishing fervently that for once I would be forthright, announcing precisely what was plaguing me. Doubtlessly, once I had shared the burden of my thoughts with him, he would shatter landspeed records when he changed his mind.

"Anakin, look, I'm on your side," I faltered, hoping that he would still believe me after I had imparted my bad news on him and that he wouldn't blame the messenger. "I didn't want to see you put in this situation."

"_What_ situation?" By this point, the remnants of my comrade's patience had evaporated faster than a puddle of water on Tatooine.

"The Council wants you to report on all the Chancellor's dealings." Now, it was my turn to halt suddenly as I pivoted to regard Anakin somberly, testing the depth of the ocean by sticking both feet off the boat, although that was about as brilliant an action as leaving an akk dog to guard the meat.

For a moment that I was positive contained an eternity, he gawked at me as if I had commenced babbling on in a language as yet incomprehensible to the inhabitants of this particular universe. Then, he blinked and recovered himself enough to stammer, "They want me to spy on the Chancellor?"

Certain that I would redecorate the floor with vomit if I opened my mouth, I merely bobbed my head in bleak confirmation.

"That's treason!" he gasped. If I only felt like I was about to be sick, he appeared ready to regurgitate his last meal any second now. Even worse, he was staring at me as if he had never met me before and he wasn't fond of this new acquaintance.

"We are at war, Anakin," I answered softly, as though either of us could ever forget that. We might have forgotten what peace was like, but we had not forgotten what warfare was. "The Jedi Council is sworn to uphold the principles of the Republic, even if the Chancellor does not."

"Why didn't the Council give me this assignment when we were in session?" Anakin wanted to know, his eyes contracting skeptically. He had a point. After all, if an action was proper, why conceal it?

"This is not an assignment for the record." I provided the response that he most likely had figured out for himself by now. "The Council asked me to approach you on this personally."

They knew that I would not refuse, and they suspected that he would not deny me my request. It was a chain of manipulation that called to mind dominos. Vaguely, I pondered how long it would be before the final domino toppled onto the table along with its fellows.

"The Chancellor is not a bad man, Obi-Wan." Anakin fixed pleading blue eyes on me, imploring me to comprehend the anguish he was in. The trouble was that I already did, and I hadn't been able to rescue him. "He befriended me. He watched out for me ever since I arrived here."

Somehow, I doubted that Palpatine had done so out of charity. Yet, at the moment, it was hypocritical of me to judge anyone, so all I did was shake my head and insist, "That's why you must help us, Anakin. We owe our allegiance to the Senate, not to its leader…who has managed to remain in office long after his term expired."

Technically, that was factual, and, as Anakin himself would pronounce a sliver was as splendid as a parsec if you dodged the battleship. Still, while it was a spectacular rationalization that my mind was willing to buy, my heart remained dubious.

"Master, the Senate _demanded_ that he stay longer!" exclaimed Anakin, flaring up in defense of Palpatine, and I reflected on how it was astonishing that he could still be breathing when he was so gullible. Had it seriously escaped his notice that many dictators attained absolute authority by inducing those who had once wielded some power to surrender it in exchange for elegant fetes and the trappings of prestige? Hadn't he discerned that in such instances the few sentients who might have protested such a trampling of civil liberties were quelled with the threat of assassination? After all, it was a rare gem of an individual who was excited by the prospect of being martyred for the basic rights of a populace that seemed too wrapped up in counting their money, deciding which fast food they wanted to eat, watching holovees, listening to ear-splitting music, and shopping at the trendiest stores to be bothered by how many of their liberties were exterminated. Still, that didn't mean that us Jedi could step back and watch as the ideals that had founded the Republic were torn to shreds. No, we had to move to shield them, even if everyone else might have perceived what we were fighting for as obsolete.

"Use your feelings, Anakin," I urged, willing him arrive at the same conclusion I had. "Something is out of place here."

"You're asking me to do something against the Code," Anakin choked out bitterly. His face was a fractured mirror of innocence, and I realized that he had been convinced that I would never violate the Code. While that was flattering, it was also further evidence of his naïveté. I was a person just like him, which meant I had broken the Code before, and I would probably end up violating it again. There was no profit in him placing me on a pedestal. After all, that would only ever cause both of us heartbreak, since neither of us were perfect, and it was unfair to expect that of ourselves. "Against the Republic. Against a mentor― and a friend. _That's _what out of place here. Why are you asking this of me?"

"The Council is asking you," I corrected automatically, striving not to flinch as his words pierced through me like vibroknives. It was so much easier to offer this simple rebuttal than to describe my logic, since I didn't have a clue why I was performing any action I did anymore. My allegiances were all in a muddle, and I would never be able to unravel them. The only plus I could detect in all this confusion was that at least if there was no correct answer, then, by that reasoning, there must be no wrong one, either. That is, there must not be a solution that was more wrong than the rest. In the present awful galaxy I resided in, I had to take whatever scare comfort I could receive, just the way any Coruscanti driver knew to pull into the first vacant parking spot that was remotely near his destination because there wouldn't be another one for many kilometers.

After that, a diseased quiet descended between us, and I attempted to console myself by informing myself that in a couple of years Anakin and I would break our ribs from laughter as we reminisced about this. Somehow, though, I couldn't persuade myself to believe this. To me, it seemed much more probable that if we ever mentioned this conversation again, we would both shuffle our feet, scrutinize the floor for awhile, and then switch the subject to shockball as rapidly as humanly possible. It was that awkward. Even hindsight wouldn't make it better.

"I know where my loyalties lie," Anakin repeated in a near whisper after an agonizingly lengthy interval. There was a hollow quality, like a feeble echo in a tunnel, to his words that a few moments ago had contained such fire. Obviously, his allegiances were as tangled a web as mine were, if not worse.

Abruptly, I wished with a force that almost knocked me to my knees that one didn't have to pick one person or cause that one was devoted to beyond all others. Of course, if one could do that, my rational mind observed wryly a second later, it would undermine the entire concept of unconditional dedication, wouldn't it?

I interpreted his statement to mean that he was agreeing to spy on Palpatine, and I nodded with relief. As we progressed down the hallway, I had the epiphany that perhaps I shouldn't be satisfied, after all. Maybe this was what Palpatine, who was more devious than a chamber of Neimoidian barristers, desired us to do. Perhaps, even now, us Jedi were playing directly into his hands…

All I knew was that the expression on Anakin's face when I had requested that he betray Palpatine by spying on him would haunt me for a long time. His faith in me had been shattered, and there was nothing I could do to restore it. After all, once words had been spoken, they could never be unsaid.

Worse still, I couldn't shake off the clinging, foreboding sensation that this wasn't just a devastating personal thing for me. No, I felt like it had grave consequences for the Jedi and for the Republic as a whole, and when I employed the adjective grave, I wasn't referring to serious― I meant pertaining to an actual grave.

However, there was no time to fret about that, though. Now I had to go see off Master Yoda in the hangar bay, because he was about to depart for Kashyyyk, while Anakin, who had drawn a short straw in the raffle he wasn't invited to attend, went off to pay a social call on Palpatine, in which he could start his wonderful duties as an undercover agent. Well, while I was going to say farewell to Yoda, I would wish the entire way that I was a toddler in the crèche again. Then, I wouldn't be able to spell espionage, nonetheless persuade a friend to engage in it.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Unless you're as specially-abled as the moron who called the person who hands out permits for block parties in New York (a city still scarred by September 11th and the falling of a plane into the Hudson River recently) to plan the low-flying plane photo op near the Statue of Liberty instead of contacting the mayor, you've doubtlessly concluded that I'm not the owner of _Star Wars_. If you hadn't, don't sue me because you were too slow to figure it out.

Reviews: They're my only salary, so feel free to be generous. We don't want to plunge into a review recession, after all.

Dedication: As promised, this chapter is dedicated to blondlady, who correctly identified Chapter 9's title as being borrowed from Shakespeare's _Macbeth_. (It was my mandatory reference to a respected piece of literature, so nobody can think I'm a complete airhead. I've read Shakespeare, and I had the sense to regurgitate it when it made sense to do so.)

Devouring Guilt

When I reached the hangar bay where Master Windu and I would bid farewell to Yoda, I became, if that were possible, which, apparently, it was, even more somber than ever. Like my old buddy Garen Muln, I had never been an ardent fan of goodbyes. If anything, the Clone Wars had only cemented the inherent detestation of them in me.

I despised how a farewell never served to express all the emotions one intended to convey. No, there was always a word or a phrase that occurred to you after you had parted that you should have voiced. That stark fact was rendered all the worse because nowadays, as anyone involved in the GAR in any capacity whose head wasn't comprised solely of hard vacuum, an increasing number of goodbyes were becoming dismayingly final. All too frequently, a clone or a Jedi would not return from thei mission. That was one reason why I sometimes suspected that it was easier to be the one departing than it was to be the one staring at the back of a retreating figure. After all, it was a lot less difficult to face one's own death than it was to deal with the potential demise of an individual one was close to.

Detecting where my airtrain of thought was headed, I snorted. Was I seriously worrying about whether Yoda would come back to the Temple? No, surely, not. Yoda would return to the Temple. He had weathered centuries, so he could endure a conflict on Kashyyyk, as well, as anyone with a smattering of general education could surmise even if they weren't the brightest star in the cluster by several orders of magnitude. However, knowing that he would be back was a poor second to having him here. Yes, I could become accustomed to life without him here, but it wasn't my first option. Us Jedi needed his boundless wisdom at the Temple more than ever.

Well, there was yet another thing I should have contested more vociferously in the Council. What a surprise. Would the list ever them ever cease multiplying like gnatflies in the spring?

"Anakin didn't take to his new assignment with much enthusiasm," I updated them as if it could have been otherwise. While I established as much, I ruminated on how the Council hadn't delegated anyone to the appropriate task at our last meeting. Yes, we had brilliant resources, but were we employing them to maximum efficiency?

Who was I kidding with a question like that? Of course we weren't. Organizations in this particular universe existed to mismanage themselves, as an elaborate practical joke played upon us all. If its bureaucratic officers on Coruscant decided that it was prudent to utilize GAR medics to dig trenches, there wasn't that much I, or anyone else, could do about it. Similarly, if the rest of the Council determined that it was judicious to dispatch Anakin as a spy against Palpatine, even though my former apprentice couldn't lie himself out of a shopping bag, there was little I could do about it. I had already imparted my opinion that using Anakin Skywalker in such a manner was akin to using a protocol droid to run a water converter. However, the Council hadn't been interested the first time I expressed the sentiment, and they wouldn't be anymore intrigued now. Thus, it wasn't worth the oxygen it required to repeat my feelings about how they were deploying my best friend.

"Too much under the sway of the Chancellor, he is," clucked Yoda, shaking his head in disapproval. Force, I growned mentally, he and Mace Windu were like akk dogs who would not release a favorite bone about that issue.

"This is a dangerous move, putting them together," Mace Windu observed, frowning. Now was a swell time for him to receive the memo. Why couldn't he have been blessed with the same epiphany when we had been in session earlier? Then Anakin might not be in the compromising position that he was in presently.

After all, Master Windu was a far more forceful personality than I was, and with his refusal to surrender a millimeter, he might have been capable of convincing the rest of the Council not to try to utilize my former Padawan as a spy against Palpatine. Really, it was astonishing how a seemingly insignificant matter, such as when in a day one had a realization, could have so massive ramifications. At times like this, I truly appreciated that everything was intertwined, and, therefore, even the most minor decision could impact many in entirely unpredictable fashions. The future, after all, wasn't fixed, but fluid, and the die had been cast, and nobody could divine yet who it would favor when it landed.

"He'll be all right," I commented, trying to reassure myself and wishing that I felt half as confident as I sounded. He had to be able to manage, because I wouldn't be able to live with the knowledge that we had destroyed him any longer than I could walk in eight g's. Nothing could ruin my best friend, though. If he was nothing else, he was a survivor. Even if his behavior oftentimes hopped gleefully over the line between risky and suicidal, he had an overwhelming thirst to live― in fact, he got into so many tight spots, I had recognized, because Anakin Skywalker relished existence on the cusp of death, since on the brink you could feel every heartbeat and taste every breath. Whatever he desired, he always found a method to acquire. Therefore, he would be all right in the end of this ordeal, and, in the long run, that was all that mattered. This notion functioned as enough of a balm for my soul that I was able to conclude with more authority, "I trust him with my life."

There. That was one simple truth that hadn't altered since I had set foot on Coruscant and had been submerged in this political quagmire. There was one certainty I could cling to as I questioned everything. That could be a stable point of reference in all this chaos.

Maybe I couldn't provide a credit-back guarantee that Anakin wouldn't let the malk out of the bag by accidentally informing Palpatine of what us Jedi were up to owing to his inability to lie or refrain from wearing his emotions on his sleeves for anyone who wasn't blinder than an Alderaanean sea musk to detect.

Yet, I would still gamble my life on his willingness to die for me. In spite of all that had transpired on Coruscant, I still had faith that he would reflexively leap into the path of an onrushing blaster bolt if it was aimed at me and he could determine no other fashion by which to rescue me, just as I would have sacrificed my life for his in a heartbeat. In a Jedi, such attachments were perilous, because they could prompt us to sacrifice the mission to save our friend. Yet, if we couldn't have relied on each other so fully, I didn't think we would have been half as effective. If we hadn't been so assured that no matter how dreadful the crisis we were ensnared in was we could still have faith that the other would rescue us or perish in the attempt, we would have snuffed it long ago. If you didn't trust your comrades completely in battle, you died much earlier. That's why I had to keep my faith in him. As long as you had faith, you were safe. The instant you lost your trust, you were lost in more ways than one.

Besides, what cause had I to be reluctant to trust him when he had already saved me on countless occasions, just as I had rescued him? No, I would still stake my life on his loyalty to me. He was as devoted to me as the galaxy was wide.

"I don't," Mace asserted, his tact plainly illustrating why he was renowned as the best diplomat among the Jedi. For a moment, I debated inwardly whether he meant that he wouldn't trust Anakin with my life, or if he wouldn't trust Anakin with his. If it was the former, I hoped he would remember how many times Anakin had saved my sorry hide during the battle to recapture Palpatine alone. If it was the latter, it was not exactly the most alarming news I'd heard today.

After all, Mace Windu was as suspicious of my best friend as I was of most politicians. I could never precisely pinpoint the cause of the enmity between the two powerful Jedi. However, I had a hypothesis that they were simply too alike to tolerate each other. Both of them were blunt, domineering, stubborn, lethal warriors, and struggled with their tempers. Maybe when they glanced at one another, they gazed upon a mirror image that threw into sharp relief their own flaws, a sight that even the strongest sentients could seldom bear to behold.

Still, I was about as positive as I was that six and six equaled twelve that this fascinating theory was not one I should confide in Master Windu at the moment. Instead, I reminded him, "With all due respect, Master, is he not the Chosen One― the one who will bring balance to the Force?"

"So the prophecy says," Mace conceded in the skeptical tone one would adapt when agreeing to absurd statements made by a shouting person who had designated this specific time to humiliate himself in public.

"A prophecy misread that could have been," added Yoda pensively.

I had felt similarly when Qui-Gon had first argued that Anakin Skywalker was the Chosen One. Now, though, I knew that he was the Chosen One as surely as I did my own name. He wouldn't be able to accomplish the feats he had if he were anything less than the Chosen One.

"Anakin will not let me down," I persisted when I couldn't articulate these ideas. That was true. My former apprentice, vaunted galactic hero that he was, still craved my approval. Not disappointing me was still ranked very high on his priority list. Maybe all pupils were doomed to be forever afraid of earning their mentors' disapproval. If that was true, I wished once again that someone else had possessed the honor of training Anakin Skywalker, because I hadn't been prepared to work with such a volatile material when I had taken him as my Padawan, and I still wasn't ready for the obligation of handling him. Yet, it always fell to me to tend to Anakin. Even the Council had provided little advice on how to deal with the prodigy I had been entrusted. It was a pity, but what could Anakin and I do but make the best of it? When life handed you bitter fruit, you couldn't chuck it back and demand candy; rather, you had to try to create juice. And we had. We had forged a triple bond: as father and son, as best friends, and as brothers. These triple bonds were not easy to break. "He never has."

Whatever the mystical mopack that bringing balance to the Force entailed, Anakin would achieve it, especially if he knew it would please me. If Anakin's and the Force's wills aligned on this as I surmised they did, then no power in the universe could successfully oppose them.

"I hope that you're right," remarked Yoda, his heavy tone implying that he was attending the funeral of a longtime companion. As he established as much, the gunship that would transfer him to Kashyyk landed on the pad. The doors of the vessel swung open, and the diminutive Master jumped inside the craft. Once he had boarded the ship, Yoda finished, "And now destroy the droid armies on Kashyyyk, I will. May the Force be with you."

Instinctively, I murmured the ritual reply along with Master Windu. Then, I watched numbly as the gunship disembarked, soaring through the Coruscanti atmosphere on its journey to Kashyyyk. Now, I decided as the last glimmer of the gray vessel receded from view, it was really time for me to meditate. I had much to seek guidance from the Force about. If I didn't have time to find solace in meditation immediately, I would soon become crazier than a rabid Shistavernen, which meant I would start calling plumbers to repair speeder bikes. Then, I would be useless to myself, Anakin, the Jedi, and the Republic, and that was pretty close to being the last thing I wanted.

As I often did when I desired to commune with the Force through meditation, I headed off to the Room of One Thousand Fountains. When I entered the aforementioned chamber, I was instantly reminded of why exactly it had always been one of my favorite sanctuaries at the Temple. Like the lake, the room had a vaulting ceiling that was equipped with special lighting and heating panels that permanently mimicked a sunny day with fluffy pale clouds against a pristine azure sky. Just tilting my neck backward long enough to glimpse that perfect celestial dome above my head was typically enough to calm my anxiety.

If the sky failed to pacify me, the rest of the scenery would certainly fulfill that task. The Room of One Thousand Fountains was planted with hundreds of different species of grasses, flowers, shrubs, and small trees. Pebble pathways lined the landscape, and, as the chamber's name suggested, there were a thousand fountains contained within it.

The fountains varied in size from roaring cascades to gently bubbling ones. Connecting the fountains were streams, which differed in depth, width, and the intensity of their flow. Alongside a majority of the fountains, benches were situated, so that Jedi could sit or meditate beside the fountains, which emitted musical sounds that were often compared to those of chiming bells.

Sliding onto the bench located beside a fountain that had been one of my favorites ever since I had come up to Master Yoda's waist, I closed my eyes. Normally, I had no difficulty drifting into the serene, detached contemplation that was mediation, but this time I did.

This time, my mind deluged me with pictures of Anakin's appalled and betrayed expression from our earlier conversation. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't erase his blue eyes as he pleaded with me to understand that he couldn't commit espionage against Palpatine out of my head. I met with no more success when I strove to evict the image of his horrified face when I requested that he violate the Code.

It was then that I knew the infernos depicted in the religions of many worlds as the eternal punishment of the depraved were not accurate descriptions of the greatest torment that sentients could be tortured with. No, the worse torture in the galaxy was the realization that you were wrong, and the knowledge that nothing you did could atone for your crime. It was the wrenching emotional and intellectual turmoil of guilt that was the true hell. Guilt that awful made any death and any suffering seem like a mercy by comparison, and a mercy that one no longer deserved.

Now, the fountains that had always been euphonious to my ears sounded like thunder, and not just any thunder. No, it sounded like the crack of thunder that was sent ahead to herald a storm that could drown a whole planet. It was the howl of my guilt, which would be pulsing in my ears forevermore.

I was making no progress in descending into a meditative trance, so I sighed and opened my eyelids. There was no point in stressing myself out further. If you couldn't meditate, it was best to think about something else for awhile. After all, if you fretted over your inability to meditate, you only made it even more challenging to find your calm center. Understanding this paradox, I looked at my bucolic environs. Perhaps they would soothe me enough for mediation. Even if they didn't, at least they would rejuvenate me somewhat.

My eyes fell on the closest fountain and the stream that rippled down a mound of jagged boulders not far away from my vantage point. For some reason, as I studied the water about me, it occurred to me that I was very similar to the water, even though I usually compared myself to the steady, unyielding, and unobserved ground.

I was like water in that I was adaptable. I molded myself to my environment, instead of sculpting it to suit my needs. When I rammed into a gigantic rock, in lieu of battling it in the hope of winning and continuing straight along my path, I modified my course. I bent, but I never broke.

I was patient like water, because I would wait for stone to shatter under my constant pressure, and I was like water in that I was determined enough to keep wearing away at a boulder for many years.

Yes, if Anakin was a blazing fire of passion, I was common water, but it was simplistic water that doused flames, which was why I was one of the few beings who could convince my former apprentice to control himself.

I was at the juncture of calculating whether being like water was a positive or negative attribute overall when a group of twenty younglings entered the Room of One Thousand Fountains. As they approached an expanse of grass and flowers not far from me, I saw that they were all about five-years-old and were in the company of their caretaker, Ali-Alann.

Giving the unconscious grin that every adult offers when he glimpses a scene that reminds him of his own lost youth and innocence, I watched the children settle themselves upon the vivid green grass around Ali-Alann.

Ali-Alann had been my caretaker when I had been a youngling, and I recalled him as a compassionate and affectionate man, even if he had trouble telling Garen and me apart when we were little. After all, I could hardly fault him for confusing us. Not only did he have to attend to twenty children, but Garen and I had been virtually identical as younglings, and we hadn't helped matters by always hanging out beside each other.

As I gazed on, the younglings began debating what bedtime story they wanted Ali-Alann to read to them. This ritual was probably intended to teach them to negotiate at a young age, and it struck me abruptly how differently Jedi children were reared from the rest of the galaxy's youth.

From an early age, Jedi were placed in groups of twenty or thirty peers and taught to be as committed to that cluster of beings as most younglings were instructed to be loyal to a nuclear family or an extended family. Ever since we were young, we were encouraged to put the needs of others before our own, and we were instructed to perceive ourselves as having value only insofar as we contributed to the group. We were not told that we were special, nor were we given much one-on-one attention. That would have built an ego in us, and it would not have facilitated an appropriate attachment to the Order as a whole. It wasn't that we were brainwashed. Like all people everywhere, we were just conditioned.

Besides, it was only natural that we thirsted to fit into our adopted family. Of course we wanted our new family to approve of us after our birth ones had given us away― the poor ones in the hope that we would have a better life and because it was one less a mouth to feed, the middle class ones for the respectability points, and the wealthy ones in the hope of one day wielding influence through the Jedi. If your natural family gave you away, there was always the faint fear that you were inadequate. Therefore, you behaved as best you could, reasoning that if you served your adopted family well, then they'd have no choice but to keep you and never release you.

Maybe that was why Anakin always stuck out like a rogue reek among the Jedi. He had been raised by his mother. Even as a slave, he had still been taught that he was special, and that he had a value as an individual quite distinct from the masses. His mom would always have been ready to applaud his first tentative words and steps. That would certainly infuse a body with the confidence that they were special by virtue of being themselves. Among the Jedi, that element of personal attention had been lacking, and I hadn't even noticed the void until this moment.

What curious thoughts I was having this evening, I commented to myself as the younglings arrayed on the grass about Ali-Alann determined that they wanted him to read "The Three Codependent Bantha Goats and the Girtroll." Since, as a youngling, that had always been one of my favorites, because whoever wrote it had possessed a flair for irony that appealed to my sensibilities even when I was a child, I listened in as Ali-Alann recounted the story.

Essentially, the fable revolved around three bantha goats that inhabited a lush, verdant valley during the winter months. When summer came, they would travel up the mountainside, because not only was the grass sweeter there, but in this manner they did not overgraze and kept their ecological footprint as small as possible.

To get to this pasture, the bantha goats were compelled to cross a bridge over a gaping chasm. When one of the bantha goats, who was the least chronologically accomplished, and thus, had achieved the least superiority in size, reached the bridge and started to cross it, a hairy, dirt-accomplished, and odor-enhanced girtroll vaulted onto the bridge with a menacing growl.

Then, the girtroll announced that he was the keeper of the bridge, and that, while bantha goats might have possessed the right to span the bridge, he would devour any who attempted it, as was his prerogative. At this point, the accosted bantha goat stammered that he respected the rights of the girtroll and that if eating the bantha goat would permit the girtroll to be more complete, the bantha goat would be happy to be consumed after he had consulted his brethren to attain their consent, as he didn't wish to distress them.

As the first bantha goat darted away from the bridge, the middle sibling reached the bridge. Since this bantha goat was more chronologically advanced than the first one, he enjoyed an advantage in size (although this did not render him a better or more deserving bantha goat). He was about to cross the gap when the girtroll halted him, as well, declaring that as nature had made him a girtorll, the bantha goat was obliged to remain motionless and permit the girtroll to devour him, so that the girtroll could live a more fulfilled existence.

This second bantha goat asked to confer with his family before allowing himself to be eater, as he didn't want to cause them any grief by not discussing the issue with them beforehand. When the girtroll reluctantly consented to this proposal, the bantha goat promised to return as soon as he and the other bantha goats had arrived at a consensus.

Then, the second bantha goat bolted off. Watching him depart, the girtroll's hunger grew, and he began to harbor a real grievance toward the bantha goats. In fact, if he didn't get to consume at least one of them, he was resolved to complain to the authorities.

Just when he decided this, the third bantha goat approached the bridge, and the girtroll discovered that the bantha goat was nearly twice the girtroll's size with long, sharp horns and hard, heavy hooves. Upon spotting this, the girtroll exclaimed that he was awfully sorry for using the bantha goat's siblings for his own selfish ends and that he had no notion of what had motivated him to behave so atrociously, but that he had seen the error of his ways. As he thus repented, the gritroll sank to his knees.

In response, the bantha goat collapsed onto what passed for knees on bantha goats and pronounced that he and his brothers were the guilty ones, because their presence and supreme edibility put the girtroll in this situation. As such, the bantha goat begged the girtroll to forgive them.

Weeping, the girtroll countered that it was all his fault because he had threatened and bullied the bantha goats for the selfish sake of his own survival.

However, the bantha goat would have none of this, for he argued that he and his fellow bantha goats were the selfish ones, since, wanting only to save their own skins, they had totally neglected the girtroll's needs. Overcome by remorse, the bantha goat implored the girtroll to gobble him up.

Yet, now the girtroll refused to consume the bantha goat. Instead, he proclaimed that the bantha goat should butt him off the bridge for his self-centeredness and his insensitivity.

Then, the exchange turned nasty, as the bantha goat argued that the girtroll should chomp at him and the girtroll contended that the bantha goat should knock him off the bridge. Soon, the debate over who was guiltier resulted in a wrestling, hitting, punching, and kicking match as both sought to don the mantle of blame. They hadn't been fighting for long when the other two bantha goats bounded up to the bridge and saw the melee. Feeling repentant at not accepting enough of the blame, they flung themselves into the whirling ball of hair, hooves, horns, and teeth.

Unfortunately, the little bridge was not constructed to carry such a burden. Consequentially, it swayed and buckled, hurling all four combatants into the abyss. On their descent, they each felt relieved that they were finally getting the punishment they deserved, plus, as a bonus, a sprinkling of extra complimentary guilt at the fate that befell the others.

As a youngling, I had assumed that the theme was that wallowing in guilt was a form of hubris and self-indulgence that no Jedi, or moral sentient, could afford to engage in. While I still believed that was one of the story's key messages, I no longer perceived it as the only one. No, the wonder of any work was in the revisiting of it, because only then did one detect the many core ideas that one had glossed over during the first examination. As such, now when I reflected upon the anecdote, I discerned that it was a satire on the fundamental nature of guilt and redemption as envisioned by most sentients.

The author of the tale was displaying the folly and the danger of excessive guilt. As the story revealed, one should recognize one's mistakes and apologize for them. Yet, instead of seeking penalties from external authorities, one should focus one's attention upon improving one's future conduct.

Of course, the tale was also a reminder that one didn't need to search very far to find a culprit. As the fable illustrated, everyone was guilty, and nobody was innocent. After all, whenever one pointed an accusatory finger at another, a minimum of three more were directed at oneself.

From my perspective, the story was also a comedy. However, from the viewpoint of the bantha goats and the girtroll, it was more of a tragedy. That was like how my life might have appeared hilarious to an outsider, but, for me, it was often so stressful that I would wake up screaming only to learn that I hadn't actually fallen asleep.

The fact that my mind was even spacing down that lane was an indication of just how disjointed my logic was at the moment. Still, the story had made me realize something. I couldn't do anything about what I had done to Anakin today, but maybe I could still help him. Perhaps if I spoke to Padme, she would be able to aid him. It was worth a shot, anyway, so I'd pay her a visit tomorrow.

Well, that was settled then. At least the two hours that I had spent in the Room of One Thousand Fountains hadn't been a complete waste of time, even if I hadn't been capable of mediating.


	12. Chapter 12

To the Stars

The next morning, I awakened early, because I wanted to visit Padme before she was besieged with the typical multitudes of petitioners. I knew I still had a few hours before meetings would begin to occur with the Senators. This was the case because Senators were nothing if not hedonistic.

Most of them would have been up all through the night altering their brain chemistry with various legal and illegal drugs and having sexual relationships with sentients not their spouses, and would be sleeping of their evening's debauchery until noon. In short, those charged with running our government were generally so intoxicated that it wouldn't have been advisable for them to operate heavy machinery, because, after all, nobody understood how to live the high life like Senators did.

However, Padme wasn't like that. She would be up around now. Unless she had endured a lobotomy since we had last met, she was still devoted to her job, and she would not have wasted the night getting plastered or engaging in affairs with beings she would never see again and didn't give a decicred about.

No, her problem was that she had to entangle herself with one man whom she couldn't be with forever, no matter how much they loved each other. Her predicament was the same one as Anakin's: she loved too much and too easily. For that reason, if her relationship with Anakin was ever uncovered, she would be called more virtueless than if she had a million liaisons with new men every evening.

That was why I was here. Both of them had to decide to end their relationship. They couldn't keep it up now that Anakin was back on Coruscant. It was too obvious to anyone with non-vestigial ocular structures now, and if the Holonet caught whiff of it, it would be enough scandal to sell news for a decade. Anakin wouldn't be able to be a Jedi anymore, Padme's political career would be over, and they would never find peace, since wherever they went, gossip would engulf them. The Holonet could create heroes and heroines and then destroy them as easily as a stun baton could execute a mistfly.

Indeed, the Holonet delighted in doing so. They relished cheering on a rising star, they loved leering at the downfall of an old champion to a popular underdog, but then jealousy would set in. Before long, they would desire nothing more than to topple over the statue they had erected, as nothing was worse than looking up to someone. No, the trick wasn't in reaching the top, but rather in defying gravity and staying there. That was why it wasn't awesome being the best, because the only direction from the top was down. That was also why there was some truth to the ancient quip that one must either die a hero or live to see oneself made a monster by the media.

It was for this reason that I had to guarantee that the Holonet investigative reporters never had a cause to dismember Anakin and Padme. People deserved heroes and heroines that they could admire in this dreadful galaxy, and Anakin and Padme didn't need to have their lives torn apart again.

Recalling my purpose provided me with the courage necessary to knock on the door to Padme's luxurious conapt in 500 Republica.

Instantly, the door swung open, revealing Representative Jar Jar Binks, who was an aide to Padme, and who was every bit as gangly as I remembered him.

"Obi-One!" shouted Jar Jar ecstatically, lurching forward and squeezing me with a force astonishing for a being who had such slender arms. "My is very excited to be seeing yousa again. My haven't been seeing yousa in longo time. Been seeing little bitty Annie, but no seeing yousa."

"Hello, Jar Jar," I panted as the exuberant Gungan finally released me from his crushing embrace. "It's nice to see you again, too. How are you?"

The second after the words escaped my mouth, I felt like bashing my skull in. Honestly, what had I been thinking? The answer, plainly, was nothing. Jar Jar was not a sentient one should pose such an inquiry to. Since he was not the brightest star in the galaxy, he didn't comprehend that such questions were polite niceties, not serious inquiries offered by the genuinely intrigued. As such, he was prone not only to answering them earnestly, but also in exacting detail.

Luckily, I was saved from listening to Jar Jar expound upon his present temperament by the arrival of C-3P0, Padme's protocol droid.

"With all due respect, Representative Binks, Master Anakin has made his sentiments about being addressed as 'little bitty Annie' apparent to anyone who hasn't got defective auditory sensors," announced the prim protocol droid. Centering what would have been its eye sockets on me, C-3P0 added, "Welcome, Master Kenobi. How may I be of service?"

"I was hoping that Senator Amidala would have the time to meet with me sometime today," I explained.

"She does not have any appointments for another hour, and her handmaidens inform me that she is awake," replied C-3P0 formally. "I'm sure that she'll have time to see you now, if you wish."

"That would be splendid. Thank you," I responded.

Nodding stiffly, C-3P0 bustled over to a comm unit affixed to the wall, pressed a button, and told the handmaiden who answered that I was here to see Padme. Once it had concluded its exchange with the handmaiden, C-3P0 whirled back around to face me and remarked, "Senator Amidala will be out to speak with you in a few moments. In the meantime, please feel free to make yourself comfortable on any sofa." Waving a metallic hand at the plush furniture spaced throughout the Senator's tastefully decorated parlor, it continued its role as host, "May I fetch you a libation? We have a fine selection of wines―"

"No, thank you," I commented, sitting down on a settee, whose cushions immediately gobbled me up. "It's far too early for alcohol."

A human might have remarked wryly that this did not prevent most Senators from indulging in wine if they were up at this hour, but C-3P0 merely persisted, "Would you care for some sweet jang juice, some Lung Ching tea, or some―"

"Water will be fine," I interjected, realizing that, even though I didn't want anything to drink, it would be faster to surrender to the droid, and, water was cheap, so it wouldn't drain the coffers of Naboo unnecessarily.

"Are you certain, Master Kenobi?" Somehow, C-3P0 shifted the light of his sockets so that he seemed to radiate surprise. "Just the other day, Senator Eekway was expounding upon the wonders of the Lung Ching tea, and since it originates from her homeworld, she would recognize an excellent brew of it―"

"I'm sure she would, but water will serve me fine, Threepio," I interrupted again, appealing to the Force to preserve me from insistent droids. Honestly, why had Anakin built C-3P0 again? I was confident that he regretted constructing the vexing droid, but not nearly as much as I mourned the fact that he had created it. Well, that just demonstrated how careful one must be when one is making something. After all, once something is created, it can't always be unmade. Not everything was as simple to demolish as a reputation.

"Oh, I will never understand the tastes of carbon-based lifeforms, but water it is then, Master Kenobi," C-3P0 conceded, finally giving up on the notion of having me order a fancy beverage. With that, he pivoted and, glittering golden arms jerking, marched out of the room, presumably to procure water from the kitchen.

Since Jar Jar had disappeared into some office off the living room, I was left alone in the chamber temporarily. However, I didn't mind being by myself for a little while. Actually, I could benefit from the opportunity to order my thoughts. Then, they might, if I was lucky, make some semblance of sense to me, although I wasn't willing to gamble upon that remote possibility, as I didn't much care for the odds.

Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to organize my mind before the door to Padme's sleeping quarters opened. Barely a second later, the Senator strode out of her room and, looking less serene than was usual, hurried over to the divan, as I rose in respect.

"Obi-Wan," she began, electing to go with an informal greeting that I had not anticipated, which would either make our impending conversation easier or even more complicated, "has―"

Then, seeming to recollect herself, she swallowed, took a fraction of a second to regain her cracked calm, and continued with her normal poise, "Has See-Threepio offered you anything to drink?"

Well, she certainly knew how to put on a stellar charade. The only difficulty in her case was that I was trained in the ways of the Force. Thus, I could detect slight hesitations that others might not, and I could tell from her minuscule pause that she had not been intending to inquire into my refreshment status when she had rushed across the chamber. No, based on her uncharacteristically breathless tone, she had been planning to ask about Anakin. She had been scared that something had happened to him. The answer to that unasked question was that nothing physically had been done to him, but emotionally and intellectually he had been battered. Therefore, it was probably best to ease into the unpleasant discussion.

"Senator." I smiled as warmly as I could manage in these stressful times at her, because, no matter what transpired, I wanted her to perceive that I was her friend, and that I only wanted what was best for Anakin and for her. "It's so good to see you again. I apologize for the early hour, and, yes, your protocol droid has been most insistent about offering me refreshment."

As if to confirm the veracity of my assertion, C-3P0 chose that moment to return with two glasses of water. C-3P0 handed me one and gave the other to Padme before exiting. Before entering the awkward part of the exchange, I took a sip of water to fortify myself, and the pang in it informed me that it was mineral-enhanced water. Of course, while clones in the field sometimes had to rely on their suits to filter their urine to attain drinking water and while thousands of people on some backwater planets did not have safe drinking water, senators gulped down water that provided half of a daily value of several key minerals. The injustice of that was a matter I would have to reflect on later, though. Right now, I had to deal with Anakin's affair with Padme. There was a priority list that had to be followed, after all.

"However, as you may have guessed, this isn't a social call," I stated once I had rallied myself. "I've come to speak to you about Anakin."

"I was very happy to hear of his appointment to the Council," she declared, as though the only contact she had with him was via the Holonet headlines and the Senate grapevine. The flicker of panic that dashed across her face belied her words, though. Even the most exceptional actors and actresses couldn't conceal all their facial expressions, and such flickers spoke volumes when they crossed over a politician's face if the politician was as well-schooled as Padme.

"Yes," I sighed at the reminder of the events that had transpired yesterday. "It is perhaps less than he deserves, though I fear it may be more than he can handle. Has he been to see you?"

Hopefully, he had. He was one of those people that needed to talk through things, so if he hadn't confided in me, it was solar systems better that he speak with Padme than with Palpatine. Unlike Palpatine, Padme would never manipulate my best friend. Anyone who was aware of the relationship between my former apprentice and her would have to grant that her love for Anakin was nothing if not pure. Of course, that wasn't very alarming. Padme's love for everything― the Republic, its citizens, the Constitution, Naboo, and peace― was always genuine, so it was only natural that her love for Anakin was just as passionate and just as uncorrupted.

"Several times," she returned steadily. Her mask crumbled a fraction as she pressed with one eyebrow arched, "Something is wrong, isn't it?"

Blast, I had been striving to conceal that from her. Ducking my head and grinning ruefully, I murmured, "You should have been a Jedi."

Ironically, with her unwavering commitment, she might have made a better Jedi than my former Padawan. With her quick wit, her bearing, and her bravery, she would certainly have been an invaluable contribution to our Order. Then again, if she had been a Jedi, the Republic would have required another being to maintain some trace of integrity in the Senate, so perhaps the Force had known what it was doing when it made Padme not receptive enough to it to be a Jedi.

"And you should never go into politics," she countered, emitting a peal of laughter. The sound of her amusement felt awkward in the midst of our tense discussion, and she swiftly stifled it again, sobering. "You're not very good at hiding your feelings. What is it?"

"It's Anakin," I explained. Knowing this would be a long and tiring conversation, I gestured at the divan behind me and asked, "May I sit?"

"Please do," she affirmed immediately, waving me into the settee and settling herself carefully beside me. "Is he in trouble again?"

"I certainly hope not. This is a more personal matter," I faltered, shifting my weight about on the couch uncomfortably. The sofa was really far too cushioned for my taste, because I was convinced that I didn't deserve to sit upon soft objects when I was making everyone's life a mess. If I even warranted a place to sit, it was on an uncompromising, splintery wooden chair. "He's been put in a challenging position as the Chancellor's representative, but I think there's more to it than that. We had words yesterday, and we parted badly."

"What were the words about?" Padme inquired delicately, her face showing only polite interest, as if I were telling her about the price of muja fruit and how that would impact the galactic economy. However, her fingers revealed that her composure was merely a façade, for they were stroking nrevously the necklace of Corusca diamonds that encircled her neck like an expensive and attractive noose. Obviously, she had figured out that I had to have realized that she and Anakin were involved with each other. Now, she feared that I was going to ruin their lives by letting out their secret.

Clearly, she was so paranoid from carrying around the burden of their terrible secret that it didn't occur to her that it would have been easier for me to call the Holonet and tell them all about Anakin's illicit affair with Padme. I could just whisper such a scandal to one investigative reporter, and it would be all over the headlines by this time tomorrow. They wouldn't even have to know the traitor was me. One could always go down in the news as an anonymous source and blame the leak on R-2 or C-3P0. I suppose it also didn't enter her mind that, if I had wanted to wreck their lives, I could have gone straight to the rest of the Council with their secret.

No, the last thing I wished to do was send their lives, which were already erected on such tenuous foundations, crashing down around them. That's why I was here. I had to persuade Padme to end their relationship, because it couldn't continue while Anakin was on Coruscant and anyone could see it, and it couldn't go on if my former apprentice was having nightmares about her death. After Geonosis, he'd told me that he would take all nightmares literally, and I didn't desire to contemplate how far he would go to save Padme from a peril only he could detect.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you," I answered. Even if Padme was frequently opposed to the Chancellor's policies these days, I wasn't about to apprise her of the fact that the Jedi were now utilizing Anakin as a spy against Palpatine, and I wasn't about to explain how it had been me who had convinced him to do so. Some secrets were too explosive for the telling. With some secrets, it was better to stow them under a sleep couch forever where nobody who didn't know where they were hidden already could ever find them. "It's Jedi business. I hope you understand."

"Of course I do." Padme inclined her head in confirmation. Now, the onus was on me to carry on the exchange.

Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I stumbled on, "It's only that―well, I've been a bit worried about him. I was hoping he may have talked to you."

"Why would he talk to me about Jedi business?" Padme fixed me with the skeptical smile people gave a senile man when he announced that he could slaughter a dozen nexus at once without breaking a sweat. Yet, again, her fingers betrayed her. Again, they strayed to her necklace and yanked on the diamonds that glittered there like stars in the nighttime sky.

"Senator―" I started, and then decided to change the manner in which I addressed her. I wasn't here on official matters. No, I was here as a friend, and I would adopt that tone. "Padme, please, I'm not blind, though I have tried to be for Anakin's sake and for yours."

"What do you mean?" she frowned. Her forehead knotted, and the necklace was straining from her tugging on it.

"Neither of you are very good at hiding your feelings either," I educated her quietly.

"Obi-Wan―" Whatever she had been intending to establish after that was chopped off by a shriek. The shimmersilk strand that bound her jewelry together had shattered under the pressure of her pulling on it, and the diamonds scattered in a million directions, resembling the stars that flickered by a viewport at lightspeed. A second later, the gems landed soundlessly on the carpet or buried themselves without a fuss into the folds of the divan that we were sitting upon.

"Oh, this is just my luck," Padme grumbled, leaping off the settee and frantically scooping up the jewels she could find from the carpet. Reflexively, I bent over and assisted her.

"Don't stress," I advised, laying a handful of diamonds on the stimcaf table in a neat pile. "You can bring the silk and the gems to a jeweler, who will be able to repair the necklace. It might even be better. Sometimes things that have been broken appear more beautiful to us, because, having been ruined once, we appreciate fully how fragile they are, and esteem them all the more."

"Or you could just buy a new one, Mistress," suggested C-3P0, who presumably had come to collect our drinks, and, seeing what we were doing, had decided to aid us. "You have the credits to do so, and it would require less time. If we hurried, we could even have it replaced with a new, and even prettier one, in time for your meeting with the Chancellor later on today."

"I don't want a new one, Threepio," Padme commented impatiently, snatching the diamonds out of her droid's hands and placing them on the mound of jewels resting on the stimcaf table. "This one was priceless to me, not because of the expensive gemstones and silk, but because someone I love gave it to me, so its value is of a sentimental nature."

"Then do as Master Kenobi says and get it mended," reasoned C-3P0 in the same pompous fashion.

"I'd need all the diamonds to do that," Padme muttered, digging a handful of them out of the folds of the sofa.

"You've found all of them," C-3P0 stated, dumping two diamonds it had grabbed from the cushions in the couch onto the stimcaf table.

"No, I haven't," she insisted, rummaging around in the divan frenetically. "I'm sure there are more. There must be more."

"Don't be silly, Mistress," argued C-3P0. "How could you possibly know how many gems there are if you never bothered to finish counting them? Therefore, how could you possibly know if any more are missing? None of us see any more of them, so there must be none left."

"You're right, Threepio," admitted Padme, collapsing into the couch pillows in defeat. "I never counted the diamonds, so I can't be positive that any are missing? I just have a feeling that some are. Well, we'll just have to keep an eye out for more for a few days. Then, if no more show up, I'll have the necklace mended with all the diamonds I could find."

Watching her, I pondered if the stars were to come tumbling down upon us all, would we finally be able to number them, and would being capable of counting them at long last be worth the price of them crumbling about us? I guessed I would never know unless the stars actually did come crashing about us. However, if they did, in the hideous combustions that tore through planets as suns collapsed upon them, such lofty philosophical musings would be the least of my concerns.

"That's a fine idea," C-3P0 pronounced, transferring the jewels into a box for safekeeping.

Silence descended over the room again for a few taut minutes. Then, I continued to speak to Padme as if there had been no interruption, "Anakin has loved you since the day you met in that horrible junk shop on Tatooine. Although we do not speak of it, he never tried to hide it. We pretend that I don't know, and I was happy to do so, since it made him glad. You made him happy when nothing else truly could."

That's why attachment was forbidden to Jedi, because it persuaded beings to look in another direction when they ought not to have averted their attention. I was attached to Anakin. Early in his apprenticeship, I had fallen under the spell of his broad grin, and the way it lit up his whole face. Once I had been bewitched by his smile, it was only natural that I wanted to see it. Besides, what sort of brother didn't wish for gladness for his sibling? Since Padme could brighten his days in the middle of the nightmare of the Clone Wars, I had been glad that there was something to ease the horrors of the endless battles for Anakin. After all, in a galaxy filled with darkness, was it such a crime to have a secret spot of light to return to between bloody conflicts?

As for Padme, anyone who looked closely enough could see that she returned his affections. After she had spent years striving to improve the lives of the civilians of the Republic, was it really fair to deprive her of her one true love?

Yet, surely, they had never deluded themselves into believing that their relationship would last forever, since they both had to know that nothing endured forever. They both had to have comprehended from the outset that their time together was limited far more than the average couple's. Surely, they had accepted that and determined that they could live with it when they decided to progress in their relationship.

Well, now their affair had to end. They had enjoyed three years together, which was more than most married couples did, so they should be grateful for that much and move on as best they could.

"As for you, Padme, as skilled as you are on the Senate floor, you can't hide the light that comes to your eyes when anyone so much as mentions his name," I finished, reflecting grimly on how cruel I was to extinguish that glow and Anakin's smile forever by forcing Anakin to choose Padme or the Jedi.

"I― I can't talk about this," stuttered Padme, her cheeks ashen.

"I don't mean to hurt you," I replied gently, "nor even to make you uncomfortable. I'm not here to interrogate you, and I have no interest in the details of your relationship."

"Then why are you here?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Anakin is under a great deal of pressure," I informed her. "He carries a tremendous amount of responsibilities for a man so young, and he's changing quickly because of that. I have some anxiety about the person he is turning into. Put bluntly, it would be a grave mistake if he were to leave the Jedi."

It certainly would be. If Anakin sometimes found his life as a Jedi in the middle of the Clone Wars dull, he would be bored out of his mind within a day if he had to work an office job. He might love Padme, but he couldn't be an ordinary husband. He had a soul that could never settle, which was what made him such an amazing pilot.

Besides, he was too accustomed to the heart-pounding and breathtaking experience of perpetual battles to take on a normal career. Once, as a Padawan, I had read an article about released prisoners never being able to adjust to life outside of jail, which explained why so many criminals returned to penitentiaries repeatedly. Well, war was like that. After you had been in it for a few months, you couldn't escape it, no matter how much you wanted to. It became a cell in your body, a reflex in your muscles, a part of your blood, and an area of your brain, and you wouldn't know what to do with yourself if it was gone.

"What does this have to do with me?" Her voice was constricted as she posed this question.

"I fear that some of his current difficulties have to do with your relationship," I responded heavily, my tone echoing the weight that was in my heart.

For a few seconds, the chamber was disconcertingly and resoundingly quiet, as Padme gnawed on her lower lip, mulling my words over. Then, she asked in a subdued manner, "What do you want me to do?"

"I cannot tell you what to do, Padme," I muttered, shaking my head helplessly. "I can only ask that you consider Anakin's best interests. You know the two of you can never be together while he remains in the Order."

"Obi-Wan, I can't talk about this," Padme repeated, her eyes pleading with me, as she clutched her stomach for a moment, and then released it a second later, flinching as if her own skin had burned her palms.

"Very well, but remember that the Jedi are his family," I reminded her. "The Order gives his life structure― it provides him with direction. You know how undisciplined he can be."

"Yes, I do." Padme's lips twitched upward, and I recognized that his unruliness was the reason that she had fallen in love with my best friend. If that was so, I couldn't blame her. After all, Anakin's carelessness was a key aspect in his glamour.

"If his true path leads him away from the Jedi, so be it," I concluded. If he left the Jedi for Padme, I would still be his best friend. That would never change. "But, please, for both of your sakes, tread carefully. Be sure, because some decisions can never be reversed."

"Yes," she whispered fervently. "I know that all too well."

"These days, we all do," I remarked melancholically, wishing that we could all travel back in time to thirteen years ago when we had all first met and the galaxy had seemed like a much more hospitable place to inhabit. Yet, those times were a long time gone, and they weren't going to return ever again.

My ruminations were intruded upon when my comlink buzzed. As Anakin would grumble, why did comlinks have to beep at the most inopportune moments? Of course, how exactly he was aware of this perverse comlink phenomenon when he never picked up his comlink when I attempted to contact him on it was beyond me.

"Excuse me," I said to Padme, fishing around in my robes, withdrawing the comlink, and walking away from her to take the call.

As soon as I answered my comlink, Master Windu's clipped voice updated me, "We are calling the Council into a special session. We've located General Grevious."

"Thank you, Master Windu," I replied automatically, although my stomach was performing somersaults. That meant that I would soon be attempting to turn the cybrog general who had cracked numerous worlds open as simply as if they were nauli nuts into scrapnel. There was a prospect that would brighten anyone's day like a solar flare. "I'm on my way."

Stowing my comlink back on my belt, I turned to face Padme once again to take my leave.

"Padme, I won't tell the Council of any of this," I commented, wishing that I didn't have to cause her and Anakin so much agony. "I'm very sorry to burden you with this, and I― I hope I haven't upset you too much. We have all been friends for so long, and I hope that we will always be."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan," she choked out faintly.

It seemed like she could say no more, so I bowed my head and headed toward the door. As I reached for the knob, however, her voice halted me. "Obi-Wan, you love him, too, don't you?"

There was a question that I couldn't answer, because I didn't dare, too. I couldn't acknowledge how attached I was to Anakin Skywalker.

"You do," she asserted, interpreting my silence as confirmation. "You love him."

I couldn't deny it, and I couldn't agree to it, either, so I only requested, "Please do what you can to help him."

Then, I departed to meet the rest of the Council to discuss what was to be done about General Grevious. On the plus side, after the dreadful exchange I had just had with Padme, whatever the conversation with the Council entailed it would be much easier to endure than this one.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: No, it hasn't been a long time since I updated. (Drat, Jedi mind tricks don't work if one isn't Force-sensitive.) Sorry about the long wait, everyone. I hope you think it was worth it, even though, in your position, I probably wouldn't feel that it was, since this is definitely not the best stuff I have ever churned out, since I am feeling lazy and uninspired recently. Anyway, please try to enjoy it despite its many inadequacies:

Splitting the Team

When I returned from my meeting with Padme, it was time for another merry discussion in the chamber of harmony that some referred to as the Jedi Council room. As usual, those members of the Council who could not be present in a corporeal form attended the convocation via holograms. The approximate distance of those who chipped in via hologram could be discerned by how shaky the flickering holograms in question were. Doing so was a fun game that I did not have time for, however, because as soon as everyone had settled themselves or materialized in hologram format, Ki-Adi-Mundi announced tightly, "Palpatine thinks General Grievous is on Utapau. We have had no reports of this from our agents."

"How could the Chancellor have come by this information, and we know nothing about it?" Mace frowned, asking yet another pointed question about all the power that the Chancellor was gathering around him recently. "We've had contact with Baron Papanoida, and he said no one was there."

Well, there was yet another mystery for us to strive to resolve between the crises that confronted us everyday. At least, given the burdens that were constantly being added to our minds, we would never be bored. Of course, we would probably never have a moment of peace again either, or even a second of serenity, for that matter.

My pessimism was reduced somewhat when Anakin provided an answer to this enigma by explaining, "A partial message was intercepted in a diplomatic packet to the Chairman of Utapau."

"Act on this we must," Yoda decided, his hologram flickering as he bobbed his head up and down. "End this war the capture of General Grievous will. Quickly and decisively we should proceed."

That seemed like a fine plan to me, and it would be me who was dispatched to defeat Grievous, but some other Jedi might be even more cautious than me, so it was best to ask everyone's opinion first. "Does everyone agree?" I inquired, looking around the chamber.

My question was greeted with nods and murmurs of assent from everyone present. At this point, Anakin seized the moment and declared, "The Chancellor has requested that I lead the campaign."

The grim expressions that everybody had been wearing when they arrived here, whether in a physical or a virtual sense, became even grimmer. The Chancellor's actions came perilously close to commanding the Jedi Council, and, at the moment, tensions between the Council and the Chancellor were higher than many conapts on Coruscant, so any perceived slight took on the feel of an incredible injury. Although I understood the concerns of my fellow Council members, the Chancellor's behavior wasn't what troubled me at the moment.

No, as usual, I was fretting about Anakin. There was a smug quality to his voice that I didn't like. It wasn't even that he was bragging, which would have been bad enough. No, he was relishing what he imagined was his victory over the Council. Not only was that a sign that he was incorrectly viewing the Council as an adversary, but gloating was not a Jedi trait. I would have to add that to the ever-expanding list of things that I had to mention to him next time we had a real conversation.

"The Council will make up its own mind as to who is to go, not the Chancellor," asserted Mace Windu, his tone and eyes as piercing as his lightsaber. What he didn't mention was that the Council had already made up his mind. I would be going to Utapau to fight General Grievous at the end of this meeting, whether I wanted to or not, regardless of what Anakin or the Chancellor desired. It was a foregone conclusion, and any argument was ultimately futile.

"Yes, this decision is ours to make," Ki-Adi-Mundi seconded.

At this, Anakin scowled, his face sliding into a sullen expression that I was all too familiar with. Hopefully, he would remember that he was an adult now and would refrain from having a temper tantrum here. One could never know with him. After all, one minute, he would be laughing, and the next he would be glowering. In many ways, standing beside him was like standing next to a time bomb, because you could never be certain when he would blow up. Still, that unpredictability was a key reason why hanging out with him was generally a blast in more ways than one. However, that didn't have to prevent me from wishing fervently that he wouldn't embarrass himself here.

Luckily, before Anakin could respond to this, Yoda remarked, "A Master is needed with more experience."

No doubt chafing at the mere mention of the title that was denied him, Anakin deepened his scowl. Many beings in the CIS would doubtlessly have deemed this sight as immensely intimidating, but Master Windu was not so easily daunted, as evidenced by the fact that he stated smoothly, "Given our resources, I recommend that we send only one Jedi: Master Kenobi."

This, of course, was a surprise to nobody but Anakin. Unfortunately, it was a surprise that he didn't approve of, and he didn't hesitate to voice his disapprobation.

"He wasn't so successful the last time he met with Grievous," he scoffed. Judging by his derisive manner, he perceived himself as being the better swordsman of the two of us. Perhaps he was. Certainly, nobody discussing the best lightsaber fighters among the current Jedi would neglect to bring up his name, and he was more aggressive than I was, in addition to possessing lightning reflexes. He was undeniably one the most lethal warriors in the galaxy, and I would much rather him by my side than here on Coruscant while I battled Grievous.

Yet, I couldn't always get what I wanted. In fact, most of the time, I couldn't. He had more important duties to fulfill here, and he would be of more use to the Jedi and the Republic on Coruscant. Thus, it would be selfish for me to insist that he accompany me just for the sake of my own comfort in a duel. Besides, I would be fine. I may have lacked the dash that was emblematic of my former Padawan, but I wasn't a complete disaster in a lightsaber fight. That is, I wasn't more of a menace to myself than to my foe when I swung my weapon about, which was hardly astonishing since I had been taught by Qui-Gon Jinn, who had been renowned for his skills with a lightsaber. Therefore, I would survive my confrontation with Grievous even if I didn't win it, and if I didn't win it, some time Anakin and I would be able to come after the cybrog general together…

"No offense, Master, but I'm only stating a fact," Anakin added more apologetically when he seemed to realize what had emerged from his mouth. Apparently, he would never learn to think before he spoke and would spend a distressing amount of time trying to eat his words as a result.

"Oh, no, you're quite right, but I do have experience with his ways of combat now," I replied steadily.

"Obi-Wan my choice is," Yoda pronounced before my former apprentice could answer.

"I concur," Ki-Adi-Mundi contributed. "Master Kenobi should go."

Once again, the rest of the Council nodded or murmured in confirmation, and Anakin's expression tautened. Yet, he was deprived the opportunity of expressing his opinion again when Mace Windu concluded the meeting thus, "Very well. Obi-Wan, prepare two clone brigades as quickly as you can. If this report is true, there is no telling how many battle droids he may have with him. Council is adjourned."

As the meeting broke up, and everyone dispersed to return to their duties, I couldn't prevent myself from hoping that the report on Grievous was false, even if that was an un-Jedi wish, as I pulled out my comlink and keyed in the frequency of CC-2224, or Commander Cody. He was the loyal and competent clone marshal commander of the 7th Sky Corps and the 212th Attack Battalion that had been assigned to me for the most recent part of the Clone Wars, and now he and his 212th Attack Battalion would travel with me to Utapau to confront General Grievous. At least I had Cody by my side even if I didn't have Anakin. That was something.

Not much later, after I had gathered anything I would need for my journey to Utapau, I began to make my way to the docking bay to rendezvous with Cody and his troops. As I headed toward the hangar, Anakin slipped in beside me silently. Obviously, he intended to see me off like a good best friend.

Even if it pained him to witness me take off to battle Grievous, he would do so in order to bid me farewell properly. No matter what, he would want to be the last one to wave at me as I departed, and he would wish to be able to watch the last glint of sunlight against the metallic wing of a warship as I disembarked, just as I would desire to do so for him. Although it at best provided an illusion of security for both parties, it was one of those seemingly silly acts of friendship that can mean the universe to someone.

Glancing at him as we progressed toward the docking bay, I saw that he would have greatly preferred to accompany me to Utapau rather than to remain here on Coruscant as a spy for the Council against Palpatine. This scrap of data was not about to appear on a list of the nine million most significant discoveries of this decade.

After all, he was a vivacious young man, who had grown accustomed to the exhilaration of constantly living on the precipice of death. Indeed, he probably now thought that he wasn't truly living unless he was on the verge of dying. Simply put, there was no way that Coruscant's political warfare could fulfill his craving for adventure.

Apart from that, Anakin had never been one who could tolerate long stays on Coruscant, even if he spent much of his time on the battlefield yearning to return to Padme. It wasn't just that he felt as out of place as a Dug at a Wookie convention on a planetwide city where everyone intuitively knew whether someone whose title was "Principal Assistant Deputy Undersecretary" outranked someone whose position was "Associate Principal Deputy Secretary," everyone was status-obsessed and looking to get ahead even if they had to knock over a hundred sentients to do so, and people could debate heatedly for hours about the pressing question of whether the Chancellor should chide some environmental group for not condemning eco-terrorism strongly enough. No, it was more than the politics and confines of Coruscant that ate away at him.

It was also that he had a thirst to travel. Ever since I had met him when he was only nine, he had longed to explore every centimeter of the galaxy. His goal had always been to be the first person to visit every world in the galaxy, never mind that not all of them had been discovered yet and that one could go to a different planet everyday for the average human's life cycle and still not travel to half of the known worlds. I had explained this to him on countless occasions, and, over the years, the only modification that he had made to his dream was to grin roguishly and invite me to come with him on the journey, his magnanimous voice implying that this was a very generous offer to make to someone who despised flying. In short, then, it would vex him to no end to be trapped on this stifling world when his best friend, who hated space travel, got all the adventure. As I had noted numerous times, the Force had a knack for irony, and its sense of humor was even more mixed-up than mine was.

Besides, I knew what had transpired in the Council chamber today would rankle with him for a time. After all, he was probably convinced that the Council's refusal to include him in this mission in any capacity despite the Chancellor's recommendation was a calculated snub. In his mind, everything was personal, and done either to aid or wound him. The fact that he would be more useful to the Jedi and the Republic as a spy was entirely lost upon him, given his inability to focus on the big picture.

Of course, maybe there was another reason why he appeared so morose. Perhaps he was also thinking that it was some perversion of nature to separate us, since we were a team. No, we were more than that. We were the team. Where others could cooperate and function as two minds, hearts, and bodies working together, we could fuse into one being. Where others had to think about what their companion would do, we knew, because our comrade was us, for better or for worse. He was speed; I was caution. He was audacity; I was prudence. He was last minute improvising; I was overall strategy. Together, we were practically unbeatable, but what were we when we were alone? Half of virtually unbeatable or less than that? Half of a whole person or even less?

Those were questions that I didn't really know the answers to. For the last three years, Anakin and I had essentially lived on top of each other, and sometimes, it was as if we had so much invested in each other that it was difficult to think of us as two distinct entities, rather than one massive "we."

When Anakin had first been elevated to Knighthood, I had entertained such musings, because I had assumed that he would be separated from me. After all, even then, his performance in the Clone Wars had made him a legendary hero throughout the Republic, and surely he would be needed elsewhere, I had surmised. Yet, in the end, the Council, apparently, had decided that we were efficient enough together that they did not assign us to different missions frequently. As for my former apprentice, after years of chomping at the bit, he had elected to remain by my side without complaint.

This separation wouldn't be permanent, I reminded myself. Soon we'll be together again like we're supposed to be. Neither of us were meant to work alone. Both of us were destined to function as a team. We may not have always recognized that, but now we did, and that realization made us all the mightier.

As we strode onto a portion of the hallway that overlooked the Temple docking bay where I could see hundreds of clone troops loading themselves and their equipment onto the massive Republic battleships parked on the landing pad, Anakin's voice laced into my thoughts.

"You're going to need me on this one, Master." My former Padawan's words were simple, but behind them I sensed that same conviction that we were a team, and, therefore, that we should never be separated.

"Oh, I agree," I responded, wishing that I could have him by my side when I went into combat with Grievous. His energy and speed were always a bonus, especially now that, thanks to this awful war I felt like I was aging a century each day. If I had him with me, the odds of defeating the cybrog general would increase immensely. Yet, the universe did not revolve around what I personally desired. Deciding that we had both wasted enough of our energy wishing that he could accompany me when he couldn't because he had more pressing obligations to attend to here, I forced a smile and added with a cheeriness that I didn't feel, "However, it may turn out to just be a wild bantha chase."

The tip had come from Republic Intelligence, something that was almost a contradiction in terms, as demonstrated by the fact that if they told you one hundred enemy ships were coming to a given planet, it was best to expect about three hundred more.

Even if it hadn't come from Republic Intelligence, I might have offered this wry comment anyhow, because Anakin and I had an unspoken pact. Essentially, it was that, no matter how horrible our lives in the center of this bloody civil war got, we wouldn't sink into depression. No, we would be brave and strong for each other. In the midst of chaos and ugliness, we would find something funny― something that we could jest about. Somehow, we both realized that as long as we could chuckle or smile we would remain relatively sane. If we could no longer spot the humor in our stressful, tough existences, we would lose ourselves. In the present galaxy, you couldn't do so, as there was no lost and found department, and you would never find yourself again in the mayhem.

As such, my words had been intended to reassure my former apprentice as much as myself. Yet, Anakin didn't seem comforted. He opened his mouth to establish something and snapped it shut again.

Looking at him, I observed how unusual it was for my old Padawan to be at a loss for what to say. Since he was so confident and precocious, it seemed impossible that he would be afflicted with an inability to express himself, as I was. Maybe, like the clones did with their brethren before they entered battle, he was trying to uncover a manner in which to state his affection without sounding too mushy.

I wanted to explain to him that he need not bother. We were brothers, after all, and real siblings never admitted that they cared about each other. The affection was always there, but it was hidden. That was the way it was with us. The warmth we harbored for each other was present in the special tones we employed to tease one another. If that method had worked for years, why change it now?

Unfortunately, somehow, I couldn't stumble across the words to express this idea, and so I watched quietly as Anakin's mouth opened and closed again as though he were attempting to catch glitterflies in it.

For a moment more, I waited for him to speak. When all he did was swallow, I pivoted to head off and join the clones. The clones were all obedient, valiant, unquestioningly loyal to the Republic, and impeccably educated in all matters military, and they would have been one of the most exceptional armed forces in galactic history even with a Weequay general commanding them. Thus, they hardly required my supervision to load themselves and the supplies onto the vessels.

Still, it never hurt to be sure that everything went well, and clone troopers appreciated a general that took an interest in them. Besides, it was nice to have the illusion that one was necessary every once in a while. That was an anchor and a valuable constant in an ever-altering galaxy.

Staring out at the multitudes of soldiers all dressed in white armor, I thought that they were the oddest army this galaxy or any other had ever given birth to. Since they had been trained by Jango Fett and other Mandalorians that the late bounty hunter had selected personally, they embraced the values of that militaristic culture. However, unlike the Mandalorians, the clone troopers were no mercenaries.

In fact, they were the exact opposite of mercenaries. Mercenaries like the Mandalorians would fight for no cause, but they would die for the right amount of credits. On the other hand, our clones received no money or any other compensation for their fighting, but they willingly perished for a Republic that had yet to even grant them citizenship.

That wasn't to say that they were just dim-witted, unfeeling men who deserved to be thrown into war with the same indifference as the Separatist droids were. No, clones were much more than just canon fodder. They were smart and had a spectrum of emotions as long as any human's. Whatever else he might have been, Jango Fett hadn't been an idiot, and his clone sons weren't stupid either. Some of the higher-ranking clones had even had their genes modified to make them even more intelligent. As such, the clones that many civilians looked down their noses at as meat droids were probably superior to them in a lot of ways.

No army of citizens would have tolerated not being paid or compensated in any fashion for their services, but the clones accepted such treatment. They did so not because they were imbeciles, but because they had honor. They had taken an oath to serve the Republic, and they would keep it until the bitter end, even if they received no rewards or recognition for their sacrifices. On some level, since they understood what they had surrendered for the sake of their integrity, they had come to terms with the fact that just about nobody else in the galaxy would comprehend what they had sacrificed, and so when they died, there would probably be no one to recall what had happened to them.

Yet, that didn't mean that clones were one hundred percent content with their present existences. Recently, as hope that we might be nearing the conclusion of the war with the Separatists surged within us, some clones like Cody had begun posing pointed questions about what would be done with them after the war was over.

To these inquires, I could do no more than shrug and tell them that when I found out what the Senate was planning, they would be the first to know. A few months ago, some compassionate Senators had suggested that a facility be established to care for the clone veterans once the war had concluded, but the proposal had been killed in committee since it required too much funding. Since then, to my knowledge, no new ideas had been proposed.

Perhaps the clones would end up keeping the peace by regulating traffic and that sort of thing. Doubtlessly, that would be a very fulfilling and stimulating task to men who were accustomed to the roar of artillery in their ears and the explosions of grenades rocking the ground beneath their feet.

In short, it seemed to me like the clones were faced with the same dilemma that Anakin and I were. All of us had been forced to adapt to the violent, high-pressure world of war, and all of us had done so well enough to survive for nearly three long years. However, when the conflict finally resolved itself, what could we do?

We couldn't go back to living as we had before the war, because we didn't remember how. For better or worse, battle was a part of us. We had become used to it, and the notion of living without it, while so attractive in the abstract, was, like so many grand theories, impossible in reality. In many ways, we were like prisoners entrapped in a jail of warfare.

Just as convicts who were finally released from prison had no notion of how to conduct themselves in the real world, we had no idea how we should behave in a peaceful environment. While the convicts would break the law again just so they could return to the jail they had dreamed of escaping, we would yearn to return to the land of battle that was familiar to us. It was horrible, but it was what the galaxy had done to us. Now peace, whatever it might have been to everyone else, was impossible for us. That's the payment that you received if you served in the GAR too long, and the only way out of the GAR was in a bodybag.

"Master!" Anakin's shout pierced through me, and I turned around to face him again. The frantic note in his voice surprised me. For a second, it had sounded like he had been afraid that I would abandon him, which was ridiculous. I would never do that to him, because I was well aware of how agonizing it was to even suspect that your Master had abandoned you. The idea of them just walking away from you forever was infinitely worse than anything they could have said.

Before I could reply, he hurried up to me, his head bowed in contrition, and faltered, "Master, I've disappointed you. I have not been very appreciative of your training. I have been arrogant, and I apologize. I've just been so frustrated with the Council, but your friendship means everything to me."

Once again, I had to struggle to contain my shock. Apologies from Anakin Skywalker were as rare as snow crystals on his homeworld, and it was even more uncommon for him to give one that wasn't ripped out of him. Here was a sincere one provided of his own volition. It was a pity that there was no holocamera present to preserve this historic moment for posterity. Of course, if there had been one, I wouldn't have humiliated him by filming this, anyway.

After all, I was suddenly transported by my mind back to Naboo and the last real conversation I had with Qui-Gon by the swamp, waiting for Jar Jar to emerge from the murky water. Neither of us had foreseen what had fate had in store, or else we wouldn't have left so much unsaid.

Maybe it was time for Anakin and I to stop leaving things unspoken as well. What was unspoken was never known, and one shouldn't put off until tomorrow what one should express now. After all, nobody could guarantee that he would be here tomorrow, and, given our dangerous lifestyles, Anakin and I had much greater odds of dying than most people.

Now I wanted Anakin to realize that yes, he was arrogant, but there were worse things to be. Arrogance was a common flaw in the young, and he was improving, since at the beginning of the war he would never have made an apology like this. He had grown up a lot in the past few years, and I was proud of him. He was already a powerful Jedi, and he was still getting stronger. When he reached his apex, he would be the mightiest Jedi the Order had ever seen. Yet, he would be more than that.

Despite his faults, he was a good man. He was brave, steadfast, funny, and charismatic. Even more than that, though, he always came through in the end. That was why, even if I never got any thanks, I would stand by him. Yes, he was moody, but he had reason to be so, since he had been saddled with many burdens, because it was an unpleasant fact of the universe that, if you could carry your own weight, you were often required to lug about several other people's as well. Besides, dealing with his emotional lows made sharing his peaks all the more entertaining. If I needed unfailing optimism, I could look to Garen, who was certifiably insane. If the ship Garen was on was being devoured by flames, he would probably decide to cook a meal on the fires. Not everyone could be as upbeat as Garen, and that was no crime.

Granted, Anakin had been terse with me ever since we had returned to Coruscant, but most beings took out their temper on their family or their friends, because they sensed that those individuals would never leave them, no matter how irascible they were at times. Anyway, compared with how irritable he had been in his late teens, he had been a bundle of joys over the past few days.

"You are strong and wise, Anakin, and I am very proud of you," I answered gently, clutching his arm where the metallic lower half met actual flesh. As he looked at me again, I went on, wondering vaguely what it was about him that always transformed me into an Iridonian huggle-puff puppy, "I have trained you since you were a small boy. I have taught you everything I know, and you have become a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be. You have saved my life more times than I can remember, but be patient, Anakin. It won't be long before the Council makes you a Jedi Master."

Here I paused, hoping that Anakin might speak because I was more than a little embarrassed by the intensity of the affection I harbored for this difficult, talented, and headstrong comrade of mine. However, he seemed equally embarrassed by my praise, so it was up to me to continue. As I started down the ramp that fed onto the landing platform, I tossed over my shoulder, comprehending that Anakin might be fretting about me as much as I was about him, "Don't worry. I have enough clones with me to take three systems the size of Utapau. I think I'll be able to handle the situation even without your help."

"Well, there's always a first time." Anakin treated me to the cheeky smirk that he had no qualms about offering me ever since he was a sunny nine-year-old. Once it had caused me to contemplate strangling him, but now it just made me laugh.

However, our amusement did not last long, and we sobered again within a few seconds. His face tight with seriousness, he recited the traditional Jedi farewell with more sincerity and somberness in his voice than I had ever heard before.

"May the Force be with you," I echoed, my tone rendering it more than an automatic benediction. Somehow, that didn't convey everything I wanted to express, though. My forehead furrowing, I added, "Goodbye, old friend."

Yes, that was right. Linguists asserted that the Basic "goodbye" was a contraction of the phrase "Gods be by you." This benediction dated from the days when plagues had been more numerous in the galaxy than the stars, and it was entirely likely that the person you bid farewell to would be on death's door the next day. At the present, it served my purposes as well. If there were any gods out there, I wished them to look after Anakin.

Now we had said everything that needed to be shared. There were no more shadows between us now, and I could stride over to join Commander Cody and his troopers without anything weighing down on my heart. At the moment, I was perfectly willing to confront Grievous, since I felt more invincible than I had in a long time.


	14. Chapter 14

Final Battles

Here we go again, I noted dourly to myself as I stared out at the seemingly infinite rows of clone troopers standing at attention in the hangar bay. It was time for us all to jump into the line of fire again. It was time for us to nobly sacrifice ourselves once again for the Republic, because we all had been trained since our first memories to place our desires and needs after those of complete strangers, and basic programming was surprisingly difficult to overcome.

Well, at least we were as ready for battle as we would ever be. Everyone had ensured that his weapon was functioning optimally, everyone had checked that his comlink was working and that his supply kit was full with all the necessary equipment, and those who could manage to eat before a fight had consumed a ration cube. In short, we had performed all the rituals that prepared us for another slaughter and sacrifice― another round in an everlasting war.

Sure, Yoda and the rest of the Council were convinced that the capture of Grievous would be the haxstraw that broke the bantha's back and the death knell of the Separatist movement. Intellectually, I could even embrace this optimistic contention. After all, it was hard to imagine a confederation of loosely affiliated worlds holding themselves together in the face of the exceptionally well-trained clone warriors of the GAR without their brain and their brawn.

However, in my heart, I felt like the Clone Wars were as eternal as gravity, and as mighty as a force of nature in themselves. My heart whispered to me that, obviously, there could be no end to something that was endless, and, thus, I had been born fighting in the Clone Wars, I would squander my whole unspectacular existence struggling to survive until the next bloody engagement, and I would ultimately die in them.

Now wasn't the time for pessimism, though. I needed to project an attitude of resolution and quiet confidence to keep morale up. Dying wasn't so awful if you were assured of victory, after all. Besides, I must focus on my last minute planning session with Commander Cody. It paid to have a detailed strategy before the enemy blasted it to smithereens, since something could always be salvaged from the ruins of the best laid plans, and nothing was more comforting than the delusion that one had a purpose to achieve.

"Fortunately, most of the cites are concentrated on this small continent here on the far side." Commander Cody pointed at the landmass he referred to on the hologram of Utapau that he, several of his commandos, and I were studying, illustrating how easily we could deploy all our forces there.

"I'll keep them distracted until you get there." I nodded my approval of his strategy. Then, picturing all the gruesome deaths that could be mine if Cody and his men didn't hurry to join me, I stipulated, "Just don't take too long."

"Come on, boss, when have I ever let you down?" Cody demanded, grinning. "Boss" was an informal, affectionate fashion clones had of addressing commanding officers, just like a squad referred to their sergeant as "Sarge."

When we had first met, the question Cody had just made might have been laced with the fear of failure characteristic of all clones, who had been raised with the threat of reconditioning or termination as a penalty for failing to meet the expected standards of excellence. Now, however, the inquiry was phrased as a joke. Cody was at ease with me, and why shouldn't he be? After all, it had been me who had detected traces of independent thought that Kaminoans might have terminated him for and had gotten him the training he required to become a commander. Even if I hadn't, we had served together often enough to trust each other and have a sense of camaraderie.

In response to his inquiry, I laughed. No, Cody had never let me down. In the entire glorious history of the GAR probably no clone had ever disappointed a superior officer. As the Kaminoans had promised, clones were perfect soldiers. They never dissolved into fits of hysteria at the sight of adversaries, blowing covert ops to all the corners of the galaxy. They never deserted and found the idea even more revolting than most sentients deemed incestuous rape. They obeyed all orders issued to them by commanding officers, and they were unflinchingly devoted to the Republic, even though the Republic, as far as I could discern, hadn't done anything for them except get their brethren killed. Put succinctly, clones were loyal and brave individuals whom nature and nurture had labored together to form into instant death on legs. Also, like most good people who were committed to a cause larger than themselves, they were the most prone to being used by the immoral.

If Cody disappointed me at all, it was only because he, like everyone else in the hangar, had been manipulated into fighting a war for beings who were, for the most part, indifferent to his suffering. Yet, such an answer wasn't an appropriate response. Although it was an unspoken rule, it was one of the most binding in the GAR: If someone made a wisecrack, the person who answered had to display some wit of his own. That was how we all kept our spirits up, and anyone who violated this nonverbal contract was liable to be regarded as a stick-in-the-swamp at best. If you couldn't handle a joke, you shouldn't have signed up, and the fact that you hadn't signed up was a moot point.

"Cato Neimoidia for starters," I informed him, discovering that I could finally chuckle about that fiasco. Time was finally healing that wound as the memory of that pestilential planet faded, surrendering to recollections of pestilential worlds I had visited more recently throughout my illustrious service in the military.

"That was Anakin who was late, I believe," corrected Cody, smirking as I leapt into the cockpit of my starfighter.

The mention of Anakin combined with the fact that I was hopping into a starship without him doing so beside me sent a potent wave of longing for his presence racing through me. Force, I missed his quick, cheeky smile already, and the mission had barely begun. When I was reacquainted with Grievous, no doubt I would miss his swift, dancing lightsaber as well…But I couldn't have taken him with me to Utapau. He had duties to attend to on Coruscant, and he was lucky that his obligations did not require him to commute as mine did. Anyway, I would have been a pathetic excuse for a Jedi if I dragged him away from his duties to soothe my own nerves. Unfortunately, this reminder did not diminish the cavity in my chest formed by Anakin's absence.

Yes, I was very fond of Cody, but he wasn't my former apprentice―nobody was. In all my travels, I had yet to encounter someone who was like my former Padawan. No one could ever be such a casual amalgamation of the paradoxes in human nature as he was, because contradiction's other name was clearly Anakin Skywalker. He could be sunny and upbeat one minute, and stormy and brooding the next. He could act like a playful child who possessed not a care in the universe one instant and like a haunted old man who had witnessed indescribable tragedies the next. I had never met someone who had such a wining urge to be good and to fulfill everyone's expectations who was so apt to ignore the rules. Surely, there had never been a Jedi who never appeared more dedicated to the Order than when he was shattering its most cherished and most ancient regulations to pieces like he did. He was a Holonet hero who preferred the truant's corner, and, ultimately, all I had ever been able to do was sigh in exasperation and throw my hand up over him. Apart from all that, I had yet to meet someone who could outstrip him in piloting, and few could hope to possess his élan, his grace, or his charisma. He was utterly irreplaceable, and I was guilty of preference and attachment, as I would rather have Anakin by my side than any other being in the galaxy, because I was very attached to him. Yes, he was a powerful warrior, but that wasn't why I wanted him beside me. No, I wished for him by my side since he alone could have relaxed the coils of tension that had knotted inside my gut on the eve of this latest important battle.

Still, Cody was attempting to cheer me, and I had to respond to his effort, as far as the unwritten soldiers' code of conduct was concerned. Even if a fellow soldier's words were as scant a consolation as having a crumpled scrap of flimsi returned after the entire contents of one's house had been robbed, you had to let him know that you appreciated his endeavor to hearten you. An army that lost all vestiges of civility was merely an armed rabble, not an expression of the people's will, after all.

"Very well," I conceded, remembering that it had indeed been Anakin who had forgotten to slip the bait off the fishing line in time, resulting in my needing to become a master of a new lightsaber style, as Anakin himself had so eloquently described it. Returning to the business at hand, I remarked with affected levity, "The burden is on me not to destroy all the droids before you get there."

"I'm counting on you," Cody declared, donning his helmet and saluting.

As I was depending on him and his men. It was a tie of life and death forged in the fire of the Clone Wars. When all around you things were going up in flames and artillery was thundering, you had no choice but to rely upon those around you. Some primal instinct inside you recognized that you could not dream to survive this turmoil alone, but if you banded together with those nearby, you might just make it.

From there, it wasn't a lightspeed jump to valuing the lives of those around you more than you did your own. Dodging ion cannon blasts might seem like a tenuous foundation for a stable friendship, but anyone who had ever set so much as a toenail on a battlefield would comprehend how rational it was. Anybody who had ever experienced war would understand that it was a crucible and a test of friendships, just as it was a creator of mayhem, destruction, and death.

With these thoughts raging inside my head, I soared out of the docking bay and headed toward Utapau. Gazing down at the planet as I flew down toward it, I observed that it seemed perfectly tranquil, the gigantic sinkhole metropolises did not appear to be in states of civil unrest, and there was no indication that it was inhabited by companies of droids. Of course, that meant as much as a promise not to cheat from a Neimodian. After all, I hadn't expected Grievous to be announcing his presence here, because Utapau was officially neutral. Still, it would have been nice if he had proclaimed his presence so boldly, as it would have saved me the bother of having to land to search the whole world, and then, if that netted no results, the entire system.

To my relief, arranging a landing on Utapau was, to employ a favorite phrase of my old buddy Garen Muln's, a slice of sweet quintberry cake, for I was immediately directed to a pad on the outskirts of the closest urban area as soon as I requested permission from the planetary traffic regulators. When my craft touched down on the alloy platform, a haggard-looking local administrator even came out to greet me.

Hoping that this personal welcome was an auspicious omen for my mission because anything that would make catching Grievous a sliver easier would be as splendid as a new air conditioning system on Tatooine, I bowed politely to the official. As I completed my bow, I stated, "With your kind permission, I would like some fuel, and to use your city as a base to search nearby systems."

"What are you searching for?" asked the administrator, as if I was expounding upon the weather patterns of some world he had never even heard of, and he was too well-bred to explain to me that such a discussion was of no interest whatsoever to him. While he placed this casual inquiry, he gestured indolently, and a ground crew rushed out to service my vessel.

"A droid army led by General Grievous," I educated him, deciding that, in this instance, honesty was the best policy. Utilizing the city as an operations base for finding Grievous invited danger to come calling on the city, so the official deserved to know the truth. On the off chance that he actually cared about the lives of those he served, he should be aware of what threatened them.

For a moment, the Utapauan was motionless, his back so rigid that I feared he was about to faint right there on the landing pad. Then, he recovered himself slightly and leaned sideways, pretending to inspect the underside of my ship. The movement brought his head next to mine as well as concealed his face from the viewports of the structures in the metropolis by us as he hissed, "Grievous is here! We are being held hostage. They are watching us."

"I understand," I murmured, my tone as soft as his. For a moment, anger reared its ugly head inside me. Every encounter I had with that brutal cybrog increased my loathing of each of his metallic components. Only a monster would dream of taking thousands of neutral beings hostage. Once again, he was treating thousands of sentients as if they had less value than a decicred. No wonder the official had seemed so beleaguered; if I made one misstep or miscalculation, thousands of individuals who had done nothing wrong would be slaughtered. Well, I would just have to tread very carefully and keep my wits about me, because, no matter how many captives Grievous took, I had to attempt to capture him for the benefit of the whole Republic. If I didn't stop him, Grievous would continue to commit outrages like this, and that was unacceptable.

My conviction must have demonstrated itself on my features, because the Utapauan muttered, "The tenth level."

Then, before I could respond, he straightened up. Nodding my thanks at him as if he had done nothing more than advise me about a problem he had spotted on my starfighter, I pivoted and strode back to my craft. After making a show of ducking underneath it as if I were studying something the administrator had drawn my attention to, I climbed back into it.

While the ground crew finished its work, I set up a secure communication to Commander Cody, who answered his comlink instantly, as was his habit.

"I have located General Grievous," I updated Cody as soon as he picked up. "Report to the Jedi Council at once. I'm staying here."

Once Cody had accepted the order without questioning, as always, I cut the signal, stowed my comlink on my belt again, gave swift instructions to R4, and slipped out of my starfighter on the far side of the cockpit. By the time the vessel soared off as I had directed my astromech, I was cloaked in the shadows of the sinkhole city. Now all I had to do was get to the tenth level and defeat Grievous. In theory, it sounded like a simple plan, but, in reality, I suspected that it would be nothing less than nearly impossible. Of course, Jedi lived to fulfill virtually impossible jobs. That was our role in the Republic, and it wasn't likely to change any time in the immediate future.

As if to lull me into a treacherous, false sense of security, I discovered that getting to the tenth level of the city was actually far easier than I had envisioned. It was true that the stairs were blocked and the turbolifts had been switched off, but I had expected that to be so, as that was an obvious defensive measure to take. However, there weren't many other obstacles in place, for no one was patrolling the open walls of the sinkhole itself.

Therefore, all I had to do was find one of the massive lizards that the Utapuans rode. Once I did, the lizard I was on scaled the sinkhole wall without much difficulty. Soon, I was charging across the edge of the tenth level on the back of a giant lizard, seeking out Grievous' headquarters.

A quarter of the way around the sinkhole, I uncovered it. The hordes of battle droids rendered it unmistakable, even if General Grievous himself had not been standing at the far end of the chamber accompanied by members of the Separatist Council.

Upon catching sight of the Separatist Council, I scowled. That was an unforeseen complication that was as troublesome as being fired right before the mortgage was due. Even with all of Cody's clones, I could not vanquish all of them― or, more precisely, all their formidable bodyguards― simultaneously.

Well, I had to make the best of a far from ideal situation. It was time to display some of that cleverness people claimed I possessed. Maybe if I crept closer to them, I could eavesdrop on the Separatist leaders and learn about what they were plotting. Forewarned was forearmed, after all.

Sticking with that tactic for now, I dismounted the lizard and slid along a narrow walkway that I refused to consider how high it was elevated from the ground, hoping that the sound of their voices would carry to my position.

Unfortunately, I did not have time to discover whether this was the case, for as soon as I had settled myself, the Separatist Council, which included such august beings as the slimy Neimoidians Nute Gunray and Rune Haako of the Trade Federation, exited the room. Once they had filed out, I remained where I was for a few seconds, even though Grievous was now alone, because I hoped that some of the hundreds of battle droids in the command center would depart, as well.

When none of the droids left, I steeled myself for the coming confrontation with a sigh. Then, drawing on my connection with the Force that knit this vast universe together, I tossed off my cloak and jumped into the room, touching down lightly in front of the cybrog general.

Although the driod general's metallic face was inscrutable, his tone was bemused as he commented, "I find your behavior bewildering. Surely you realize you're doomed."

Oddly enough, the last time he had expressed such a sentiment to me, I had managed to survive, because I was apparently an exceptionally challenging person to kill, I observed inwardly, as I countered, "I've brought two full legions with me, and, this time, you won't escape."

Negligently, Greivous waved a hand, and four of his sentinels lurched forward, whirling their electrostaffs like lethal pinwheels.

Twisting away from their weapons, I ignited my own. In order to maintain the droids' focus on my lightsaber, I feinted while I used the Force to send an enormous rectangular slab of durasteel from the ceiling tumbling down toward the floor.

The success of this maneuver exceeded my highest expectations, for three of the guards were crushed outright, and the fourth was partially pinned in the debris and struggling wildly to grab its electrostaff once more. As I passed the fourth bodyguard on my way to Grievous, I cut it neatly apart.

More droids poured into the chamber, but Grievous shooed them away. Throwing back his cape, he revealed the belt on which he hung the lightsabers of all the Jedi he had murdered. The sight of his perverse trophies always nauseated me, and, as such, it was a few seconds before I realized that he had taken up two lightsabers in each of his hands.

What type of hookah is he smoking? I wondered, gawking at him. With two lightsabers in each hand, he'll dismantle himself faster than I will. Even a seasoned Jedi warrior wouldn't tempt fate with such a crazy stunt.

However, a second later, Grievous' tactic became plain. His metal arms had divided lengthwise, and I was now combating a foe with four arms, bearing a lightsaber in each hand.

"Count Dooku trained me in the Jedi arts," Grievous leered and attacked. He spun two of the lightsabers like deadly buzzsaws, while he stabbed with the other two wherever he detected an opening.

And I trained the man who disposed of Dooku. I had just enough time to fortify myself with this reminder between parries. Grievous had obviously absorbed Dooku's lessons, because fighting him was like engaging in a battle with four people at once. Form III was designed for defensive circumstances, but I knew that I couldn't keep blocking him forever. The objective of Form III was to conserve one's energy while your enemy tired himself or herself with vicious assaults. Once your adversary was exhausted, he or she would begin to get sloppy, and you could seize the opportunity to end the fight on your terms. Of course, for such a method to work, your foe had to be capable of tiring, and I doubted Grievous was.

Oh, yes, I really longed for Anakin right now. He was a skilled practitioner of the far more aggressive Form V, and together we would have immeasurably better odds of defeating Grievous. Yet, no matter how much I wished he was beside me, Anakin wasn't here. I had to do this on my own.

With this thought to spur me on, I decided that it was time to branch out. Slavish devotion to only one style of fighting was not a good dueling strategy, after all, and it was time for a different approach in my battle with Grievous. Maybe a touch of gymnastics would add some spice…

I flipped over Grievous and landed on the floor behind him. Grievous didn't even have to pivot to defend himself against my blows. Instead, he just rotated his mechanical body until he was facing me. Yet, even doing that required time and disjointed his attack enough to permit my weapon to swirl past his guard. Two flicks of my lightsaber later, two of his four arms had smacked onto the ground, still clutching their stolen lightsabers as if they could protect the severed limbs now.

Before Grievous could adjust to fighting with his reduced number of arms, I called on the Force once more. This time, I employed it to lift the cybrog into the air and shove him against one of the beams that supported the levels above us. The impact jolted the remaining lightsabers from his grasp. As they slapped against the floor of the control center, Grievous fell onto the ninth level.

Through the mist of battle, I recognized dimly that the room was filling up with blaster fire, as the clone troopers arrived and distracted the droids. Thanking the clones mentally for their reliability, I dashed to the edge of the chamber in time to spot Grievous scuttling toward a one-man wheel scooter.

When I saw this, disgust rippled through me. Sometimes it seemed that Grievous was a coward who could do nothing but flee and murder defenseless sentients. This time, Grievous had been planning to escape on that craft while the droids kept me busy. Well, he had forgotten to account for my legions of clones, a mistake I would ensure that he would rue.

In a fury of light, I sent a volley of shots back at the battle droids who had fired at me and whistled for my riding lizard, just as Grievous kicked his scooter into motion and roared away. An instant later, the lizard had leaped down in front of me, smashing a battle droid as it performed this action, and I hopped on its back and sent it flying after the cybrog general.

As I tailed Grievous, I had the shocking realization that he was the one driver in the galaxy who was an even more reckless pilot than Anakin. Blaster bolts from Republic and Separatist troops filled the air, and there were explosions everywhere, not to mention armored transports loaded with droids and clones whizzing around like fireworks. However, Greivous' scooter hurtled through all these obstacles as if its pilot did not see them, barely avoiding numerous crashes and colliding into any vehicles unlucky enough to be in its path.

Navigating its way through all the chaos with more caution, my lizard was hard-pressed to keep Grievous in sight. A stray laser blast flashed past my ear. Reflexively, I reached for my lightsaber to shield myself from any other stray missiles only to discover that it wasn't there. Curse it, my weapon must have been knocked off my belt right after I mounted the lizard.

Shoot, facing Grievous again was not going to be a fun experience if I don't have it, and I really hoped that Anakin never heard about this misadventure. He would laugh himself sick and mock me mercilessly about this blunder if he ever learned about it, because he had no respect at all for his former master. Then again, maybe his taunting wouldn't be so dreadful. After all, it would mean that I had survived my next meeting with Grievous even without my lightsaber. Being bullied by my impertinent former Padawan was better than being butchered by Grievous on the scale of horrors that could befall me.

There was no time for further reflection, though, for I was compelled to guide the lizard so we evaded any blaster bolts, since I couldn't deflect them with my AWOL lightsaber. As a result of my being forced to navigate the creature, we lost even more ground.

As we progressed farther into the metropolis, the tunnels became gradually more jammed, and I was compelled to slow our pace, so the lizard could dodge the vessels that were firing at one another. Still, I was consoled when I spotted that the congestion was slowing Grievous down as well.

Apparently impatient with the delay, the cybrog general rolled his scooter up onto the curving walls of the city to evade a mob of droids racing through the tunnel. An epiphany lanced through me in all its shining magnificence as I watched this. My lizard could execute tricks that the cybrog's craft was incapable of performing.

Grinning abruptly, I urged the lizard onto the wall and then onto the ceiling. From there, the lizard utilized its natural abilities that evolution had generously furnished it with to cling upside-down to the ceiling, as I drew on the Force to maintain a purchase on the lizard as it bounded along. Since, unsurprisingly, nobody else was employing the ceiling as a thoroughfare, we didn't waste any more valuable seconds in traffic, and we gained on Grievous rapidly.

Ahead, I could discern the tunnel fanning out into a small landing platform. I dug my heels into the lizard, which obediently surged forward. Now I was beside Grievous, and I could have struck at him if only I had my lightsaber on me. Unfortunately, the cybrog general had not dropped his electrostaff, and he was close enough to jab at me with it.

As the electrostaff swung at me, I snatched it and jerked it forcefully enough to knock Grievous askew. Calling on the Force to aid me in pressing my advantage, I leapt from the lizard and tackled the general. A second later, Grievous and I rammed onto the landing pad. The impact sent Grievous' electrostaff soaring away.

However, Grievous did not spare so much as a glance on the electrostaff. Instead, he whipped out a blaster. Instinctively, I grabbed for it, and it, too, went flying out of reach. While Grievous was distracted by my maneuver, I flipped and snatched the electrostaff. Yes, the electrostaff was nowhere near as effective as a lightsaber, but, in the present circumstance, any weapon would be fine. In a pinch like this, one couldn't be too picky unless one was in a hurry to join the Force.

My first blow with the electrostaff whacked Grievous squarely in his midsection, and my second one connected with one of his arms. Upon hitting my weapon, the metal arm bent, but did not break. An instant later, too swiftly for even Jedi reflexes to twist away from, Grievous' other arm walloped me.

It was like being hit with a durasteel construction bar, and my shoulder along with half my side went numb for a nanosecond before flaring with agony. The electrostaff skidded through the air once more as my fingers relaxed their grip on it, and I barely managed to dodge the following strike.

Telling myself to pay attention before Grievous could brag about murdering another Jedi, I leapt and kicked at Grievous, putting all my weight and momentum into the attack. Unfortunately, the cybrog seemed almost oblivious to it. Clearly, his metal limbs and the durasteel shell that encased his body were much tougher than those of any droid I had ever faced. Somehow I had never recognized this when I was just fighting against him with my lightsaber.

No enemy was undefeatable, though. There must be some way to break through Grievous' defenses if I used my brain enough to find such a vulnerability. The answer to the conundrum of how to vanquish Grievous hit me when I twisted away from another swing at me and saw that a corner of Grievous' stomach plate shifted as the cybrog moved. It must have been loosened when I rammed into him with the electrostaff. Perhaps if I could whack off more of that armor, the battle would be mine.

As General Grievous aimed at me again, I ducked and closed in on him. When I seized the loose corner and tugged, the plate came free. Instantly, Grievous' metal arms clutched me and lifted me into the air.

The next thing I knew, I was soaring through the air. Then, I smacked down on the far side of the landing platform. Half-stunned, I slid across the surface for several meters and almost flew over the edge. At the last minute, I recovered the wits necessary to grab a hold of it, and, to my relief, I halted with my legs dangling above the mind-numbingly long drop to the bottom of the sinkhole.

From what felt like a kilometer off, I saw General Grievous scoop up the electrostaff and stride toward me. I needed a weapon right now. Looking around frantically, I observed that my adversary's abandoned blaster was lying only a few meters away from me.

Barely in time, I summoned the weapon to me and fired. Grievous ceased advancing as I poured shot after shot into his open stomach area. The cybrog made a sound that was half choking noise and half metallic screech. Then, there was a small explosion inside his durasteel frame.

Holding the blaster cocked at ready, I watched as more explosions rattled Grievous' casing. Finally, flames burst from his eye slits, and he collapsed in a smoking heap. Automatically, I reached out into the web of the Force, striving to sense any flicker of remaining life in the Separatist general.

After a few seconds of searching, I stumbled across none. General Grievous was dead. The CIS was now without its biggest thug, who had chuckled at his ravaging of entire planets and who was now nothing more than a steaming mound of rubble. Nothing endured, after all, and it had been I who had destroyed him. The notion stupefied me.

Heaving a sigh of relief because my brain had at least wrapped itself around the concept that once again I had defied the odds and survived an intense confrontation with one of the mightiest warriors in the galaxy, I returned to the tunnel to mount my lizard again. En route, I noticed that I was still clutching onto the blaster and scowled. So uncivilized, I berated myself before tossing the weapon off the landing pad.

Now that I had transfigured the most intimidating Separatist general into a smoking pile of spare parts, it was time to notify the Council of this development. The Council would appraise the Chancellor, whose total military experience probably consisted of fiddling around with toy soldiers when he was five but who was Commander-in-Chief of our armed forces anyway, of Grievous' demise via Anakin.

Palpatine's reaction to this update would tell us if he was someone who truly had the best interests of the Republic at heart and would seize the chance to sue for peace on its terms or if he was a power-hungry scumbag who was using the war to gain ever more authority for his exalted personage. Personally, I wished it was the former, because I was too weary to partake in a coup, and I didn't know if Anakin would ever recover from the staggering blow of discovering that the man he had trusted like an uncle aspired to be a dictator.

Yet, I couldn't afford to contemplate that now. After contacting the Council, I had to help Cody and his men vanquish the droids. A Jedi's work was never over, which was just as well, since I would hate to have led a pointless life.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: I've lost track of the number of times in recent memory that I have made a similar announcement at the outset of a chapter, but I apologize for the delay in writing this. This time I actually have a legitimate excuse, because it doesn't involve laziness. Instead, it entails three unpleasant family problems that I have recently become aware of. These secrets have left me questioning many things I had taken for granted, and, in the midst of it all, I had no desire to write about someone else's anguish when I had enough on my own plate without stealing from others. Please forgive me, and understand that while I enjoy fanfiction, my life doesn't revolve around it.

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to my three siblings, who have proven that brotherly and sisterly affection is much more obvious in the face of adversity than in the face of joy. I appreciate being able to go to a diner with them at 2 am (yes, in New Jersey we do have twenty-four hour diners, but not as many as advertise themselves as such), and being able to confide my worst fears and uncertainties to them in exchange for hearing theirs. They reminded me of the lighter side of family when I was nearly blinded by the dark. For that, I say thanks, and, because I know that they will never read this so the sacred contract between siblings is not violated, I love you.

Disclaimer: If you believe that I am George Lucas, it goes without saying that you have a brain the size of an olive pit and probably are too dim to realize that was an insult.

The Bittter End

"General Kenobi." Commander Cody's clipped voice broke through the cacophony of artillery firing on all sides of us. He was probably shouting, but his tone sounded like it was at a typical conversational level, suggesting that my ears had adapted to the constant auditory bombardment. "Glad you could join us."

So was I. Although the sight of clones and droids mowing each other down and wrecking havoc on Pau City in the process was hardly one that citizens in the Republic who had received enough oxygen at birth would be lining up to behold, but it was lightyears better to be alive to see it than to be killed by Grievous never to lay my eyes on anything ever again. In war, you had to take what you could get, and be happy about it.

"Commander Cody." I nodded at him, returning the greeting as I scanned our surroundings in the vain hope of making some sense out of the confusion. "Did you contact Coruscant with the news of Grievous' death?"

Even as I posed the question, I suspected that I knew the answer to the inquiry. Since I had instructed Cody to contact Coruscant with the news that Grievous had met his demise, Cody would have done so already. For a clone, Cody was capable of relatively original thinking, but he had been conditioned to obey all orders issued to him by superior officers and was no more able to defy them than banthas were of speaking Basic. If he and his men were ordered to march off a cliff, they would have done it unflinchingly and unquestionably, so sending a holocom to Coruscant was nothing. Still, form demanded that I ask.

"As ordered, sir," confirmed Cody, snapping to attention and saluting. Then, he dropped his hand from his forehead, and his spine lost some of its rigidity as he relaxed into a more informal position. "Erm, sir?"

With a raised eyebrow, I encouraged him to go on. Whenever a clone requested permission to speak, it was wise to grant it. Their instincts in war were generally correct.

"Are you all right, sir?" Cody inquired, and I decided that I must indeed be a disaster if he was posing such a question. Reflexively, I attempted to swipe away some of the dust and gore that smeared my features with the sleeve of my robe. However, I aborted the endeavor almost immediately when I realized that my robe was charred, and, as such, only served to leave a blacker smudge across my face. Obviously, I was not going to win any interstellar competitions for my looks today. "You're a bit of a mess."

"Ah, well, yes," I agreed awkwardly, determining that "a bit of a mess" must be the latest military euphemism for "you look like you were just knocked over by a landspeeder." Struggling to recover my composure, I continued, waving a palm at the chaos engulfing the sinkhole city, "It has been a stressful day, but we still have a battle to win."

"Then I suppose you'll be wanting this," observed Cody, and some nuance in his manner hinted to me that he might have been smirking slightly beneath his helmet. What he seemed to find so amusing about the present situation was revealed when he pulled out my lightsaber from one of his supply kits and offered it to me. Apparently, one of the clones had discovered my weapon in one of the tunnels and given it to their commander for safekeeping. I was fortunate that it had been a clone and not a droid who had scooped it up, although if Anakin heard about this, I might very well wish that my lightsaber had remained lost or had been snatched up by our adversaries. "I believe you dropped it, sir."

"Ah, yes," I mumbled, calculating that the humiliation factor of this exchange had just multiplied by twenty. At least it had for me. Cody seemed to be enjoying himself, even if he was only half as merry as Anakin would have been if he were in Cody's shoes. "No need to mention this to Anakin is there, Cody?"

"Is that an order, sir?" demanded Cody, who was definitely snickering under his helmet.

For a second, it was on the tip of my tongue to ask if making it an order would help him to do it, but then I remembered to whom I was talking. Yes, making it a command would certainly ensure that Cody did it, just as making it an order would guarantee that my former Padawan would not do it. That knowledge decided me. I couldn't abuse my rank by making it a command, so I just chuckled, although I had no idea what was amusing, and replied, "Let's go. You'll have noticed that I did manage to leave a few droids for you."

In this case, of course, a few was a military euphemism for about a battalion at least.

"Yes, sir," responded Cody. As he established as much, his comlink buzzed, and he yanked it out of the compartment in his armor where he stored it. "Go on ahead, General. We'll be right behind you."

Nodding, I bent over and instructed my mount to head back into the heart of the fray while Cody answered his comlink.

The trouble with battle droids is that they can't think, I commented to myself as I hacked a path through the droids that still clogged Pau City. An army comprised of sentients would have survival instincts honed into them over millennia of evolution, would recognize that they were severely outnumbered, and would surrender in the hopes of avoiding being dismantled. However, the droids, possessing the survival instincts of lint, merely followed their programming and persisted in shooting blaster bolts at anything that moved.

Things could be a lot worse, though. At least I had my lightsaber back. After all, it would not have been one of the thousand highlights of my experiences in the Clone Wars to confront all these battle droids with just a laser pistol, I noted inwardly as I guided my lizard up the wall of the sinkhole to get a better angle that would allow me to destroy more of my metallic foes.

As I did so, I suddenly felt a peculiar tremor in the Force and started to turn my mount away from the as yet unknown, but powerful menace I sensed. The animal shifted just enough that the abrupt, intense explosion of laser fire didn't destroy both of us, and, instead merely knocked us off the wall. While we made the impossibly long tumble to the bottom of the sinkhole, I saw that the laser fire had come from my own troops, not from the droids.

My men had shot at me. They were mutinying. Yet, that was impossible. Clones could no more commit mutiny than black holes could stop drawing objects into them. No clone in the entire history of the GAR had mutinied, mainly because their idea of mutiny was limited to scribbling nasty words that the GAR acronym really stood for on the refresher walls and then erasing them. Besides, what could they hope to acquire by overthrowing me? If they overthrew me, they would still be an unpaid army that was forced to serve the Republic, and they might very well end up with a worse commander, one who would not be interested in listening to them…

And if they had committed mutiny, I would have sensed some malice from them, and, when I reached out to them in the Force, I felt their usual auras. All of them were the same valiant men who were dedicated to the Republic and would die for it in an instant. There was nothing malignant about them even though they had just tried to kill me. Thus, they must be convinced that they were doing the right thing. They must be following orders from someone higher up than me. The only person besides me who had authority over Cody was Palpatine, and Cody had just received a call on his comlink….

Now there was no time for further contemplation, though. The clones were trying to kill me and were doing so with the determination that they always displayed when carrying out commands issued to them. I knew just how lethal they were and comprehended that I shouldn't underestimate them if I was remotely interested in remaining among the living. All this whizzed through my head as I rammed into a pool of stagnant water that made me miss the swamps on Cato Neimoidia.

More laster blasts slammed into the surface of the water, as I permitted the momentum of my fall to tug me down into the depths of the water where the blasts couldn't hit me. Then, I fumbled in my belt pack for a moment before I withdrew my breather and slipped it on. Now, I could say underwater until the clones gave up their search for me.

As I had anticipated, it took them about an eon to do so, because nobody could claim that clone troopers weren't persistent. Their lengthy search for me provided me with the time necessary to realize that the lizard I had ridden all day was dead. The plummet, the impact of the water, and the blaster fire from the clones had all conspired to kill my mount. When I noticed this, a pang coursed through me. The lizard had been a reliable comrade, and I would have wished it a more painless exit from existence, although I would have preferred that it could have stayed alive for longer so that I could have appreciated it more. It was proper that a Jedi mourn a loss of a life, but it was also important that a Jedi let go. Excessive grief wasn't just a form of attachment, it was also a type of selfishness that was forbidden to a Jedi. As such, I was somewhat grateful for the time the clones invested in searching for me before they decided that the long fall combined with hitting the water must have been the death of me, because it allowed me to mourn the lizard and then to allow my grief to flow out of me.

Once I had gotten over my grief, I planned my next step. Obviously, I had to escape Utapau. Fortunately, the clones didn't know about General Grievous' escape ship, for I had only informed Cody of Grievous' demise, since there had been no time to provide details. If I could get to that vessel, then I could sneak away. It was a Trade Federation model, so even if cruisers in orbit spotted it, they would assume that I was a Separatist fleeing the battle. Of course, I'd still have to sneak past thousands of clone troopers to arrive at the secret landing platform, but at least the clones wouldn't be waiting for me when I got there. If I managed to escape Utapau, I could find out what was going on, even though I sensed that I would not be pleased about what I would uncover.

When the clones were no longer examining the area around me, I crept out of the stagnant water and into the Utapaun tunnels. I quickly discovered that sneaking through the tunnels to General Greivous' hidden starfighter was not just a matter of dodging the clone troops that crowded them. If it had just entailed that, it would have been a tad easier than it sounded, because, after all, I had commanded these men, so I was aware of what search patterns they would use and what areas of the city they were most likely to inspect first. Unfortunately, however, it transpired that the tunnels were home to a variety of hostile Utapaun fauna, all of which were intent upon impeding my process and some of which were enormous and ravenous as well as unfriendly.

Once I had fought my way past these creatures, I finally reached the tiny landing pad. I was relieved to see that fickle luck had deigned to favor me this once, for no clones were surrounding the ship. In fact, the whole area was as deserted as it had been when I had chased Grievous here. Still hardly daring to believe my luck, I slipped into the starfigher, waiting for laser bolts to launch at me. When none did, I studied the controls briefly before I set the ship into motion. Time was of the essence in this escape plan, after all, and I couldn't spend all day figuring out how to operate Grievous' vessel. Sometimes one just had to learn on the fly and cross one's fingers.

Hugging the surface of Utapau, I flew low until I was well away from the sinkhole city and the masses of clones and transports that inhabited it. After all, even though the clones did not expect to find me in a Trade Federation ship, they would shoot it down all the same. As far as I knew, the Speratists were still the enemy, and, therefore, were legitimate targets. That meant that if I was going to steal a Separatist starfighter, I could not take extra chances, because my former allies would be glad to destroy it.

Once I reached the far side of Utapau, I headed into space. As soon as I was out of range of the scanners on the GAR warships, I activated Grievous' comm system and punched in the main Jedi communication frequency. To my surprise, all I got was a burst of static.

Frowning, I plugged in another frequency only to receive the same net result. Another frequency was answered with more static. Finally, I sighed in exasperation and directed the comm system to scan for any available frequency. After a minute of data sifting, it began beeping steadily. Glancing at the screen, I saw that it had lit on a Jedi homing beacon, and my brow furrowed. There weren't supposed to be any Jedi besides myself out here. The galaxy must have turned itself inside out several times while I was looking the other way, but now wasn't the moment to complain about any blessing I got, I reminded my self sternly as I picked up my comlink.

"Emergency Code Nine Thirteen," I announced into it. "I have no contact on any frequency. Are there any Jedi out there? Anywhere?"

In response, a wavering hologram image appeared above the comm. Swiftly, I locked onto the signal, and the image steadied. When I recognized the figure, I decided that fatigue could impact one's cognitive abilities more than hookah, because I could have sworn that I was looking at Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan. That was a ridiculous notion, since Senator Organa would not have a Jedi homing beacon. Only Jedi had the homing beacons of our Order, and Bail might have been many things, but he was no Jedi.

"Master Kenobi?" Bail squinted at me, as if he were struggling to identify me, but he sounded pleased to hear from me, something that I chose to take as a good omen.

"Senator Organa, my clone troops have turned on me," I explained desperately, determining that now probably wasn't the opportune moment to inquire as to how in all the neighboring galaxies he had managed to procure a Jedi homing beacon. That was likely to be a lengthy tale, and now wasn't the time for dawdling. "I need help."

Given the clones' unflagging loyalty to superior officers that anyone who had been watching the Holonet news for the past couple of years would know about even if they were aware of little else, I envisioned that Bail Organa would be astonished by this update. Yet, that didn't appear to be the case. His jaw didn't drop open, and his eyes didn't widen. Either his political training was serving him well enough to allow him to conceal his shock, or else this wasn't a surprise to him.

"We have just rescued Master Yoda," Bail educated me somberly, implying that it was the latter. His words sent my brain reeling off into hyperspace. If Master Yoda's clones had tried to kill him too, then, however much I might wish the contrary to be true, the events on Utapau had not isolated. All the clones had turned on the Jedi, which meant that Mace Windu must have moved against Palpatine and failed, and, in revenge, Palpatine had ordered the clones to murder all the Jedi. Logically, my mind could accept this notion, but my heart couldn't stop screaming protests. "It appears this ambush has happened everywhere. Lock onto my coordinates."

Functioning on autopilot, my fingers did so, punching the coordinates into the navicomputer for a hyerpspace jump to the Alderaanian starcrusier. The fact that my fingers were on autopilot was good, because my brain wasn't working. It was still back at "everywhere."

Everywhere, as anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of galactic cartography could explain, included Coruscant. Anakin was on Coruscant, and there were any number of ways he could have died there. One neuron laboring to synapse with another, my brain lumbered on this airtrain of thought. He could have been shot by the Chancellor's Red Guard as a traitor when he brought news of Grievous' defeat, because the affection between my former apprentice and Palpatine was probably a one way street. Then again, he could have been the one who informed Mace Windu that the Chancellor would not surrender his myriad newly obtained executive powers now that Grievous was a mound of smoking spare parts. Perhaps he had accompanied Mace Windu when he and the others had confronted the Chancellor and been killed then, or maybe he had remained at the Temple to protect it. Then, when Palpatine had ordered the clones to attack the Temple, as he must have done, Anakin might have been slaughtered in that engagement. All in all, it didn't really matter how he had died. The point was that he was dead.

It tore my heart into a million pieces, but he must be dead. There was no way that he could still be alive. Yes, he was an amazing swordsman, but he could only do so much. In the end, the clones would have overwhelmed even him due to the relentless laws of mathematics. I had only survived because I had the opportunity to pretend to be dead, and I would have bet my last decicred that he wouldn't have such a chance. Even if he had, it wouldn't have been in his character to seize it. Audacious Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, the Hero with No Fear, and the Warrior of the Infinite would desire to go out in a blaze of glory. Style was important to him, after all.

Now, for the rest of my life, I would turn around, expecting to see his cheeky grin, his cocky smirk, or his mask of concentration, and I never would again. I would hop into a ship and wonder what was delaying my wingmate only to remember that my wingmate was never going to come, because he had embarked on his final journey without me. I would think of a problem or a joke that I would want to share with him, and I would switch on my comlink, plug in his frequency, and then hang up again when I recalled that he was forever out of my reach. Each time I did so, a vibroblade would slice through my chest as I faced the fresh epiphany that he was dead. Yet, I wouldn't be able to shield myself from these realizations. Simply put, Anakin had been a part of my life too long for my mind to accept that he wasn't there. Habit kept him there, even when physics didn't.

Losing Qui-Gon had been nothing like losing Anakin. Comparing the agony that had washed over me when Qui-Gon had died to the anguish that was deluging me now was like comparing the Rodian influenza to a mortal gut wound. Yes, Qui-Gon's death had pained me immensely, since my Master had been the closest thing that I had to a father. However, at least when he had perished, there had been the balm that Masters were supposed to pass away before their Padawans, and the feeble consolation that virtually all children had to deal with the loss of their parents at some point.

Now, though, the reverse was true. I should have been the one to die first, not Anakin. That he should perish first was a flagrant infringement on the natural order of things. Of course, if my former apprentice had violated every other rule, why couldn't he break that one, too?

Furthermore, when Qui-Gon had passed away, he had left me with a responsibility in the shape of Anakin Skywalker to attend to. Nothing served to focus me more and remind me of my purpose in life than a project or obligation, and I had thrown everything I had into training Anakin― into molding him into a greater Jedi than I was myself. Now I discovered that the apprentice I had poured everything into was dead along with the promise for the Jedi and the Republic that he had embodied. I had failed the two beings I cared about most― Qui-Gon and Anakin, and I had let down the whole galaxy by letting Anakin perish before he could fulfill his destiny. At the moment, I was pretty sure that even the ungainly Jar Jar Binks could have bungled things less.

All that I had struggled to build over the past sixteen years had been knocked over, and there weren't even any debris remaining for me to salvage in the hope of reconstructing my life. The bubble of illusion that I had resided in had popped, and it could never be recreated. All my dreams had been transformed into ashes. Now, I felt as useless as a vegetable patty at a cannibal banquet. Normally, that emotion would have distressed me, but now I didn't care. Now that the person who mattered most to me in the universe was dead, I didn't really care about anything.

Throughout my travels, I had always scoffed at those who, after they had lost a beloved family member or friend, refused to do anything but wallow in tears, since waterworks never restored the dead to life and so did no one any good. However, now I could sympathize with the mentality of such individuals. At the present, a mighty lethargy was holding me hostage.

To be blunt, at the moment, I had as little desire to do good in the galaxy as most beings did in reading the Dictionary Galactica from cover to cover. Right now, the universe could drown in its own excrements for all I cared, because a universe that could steal Anakin and the promise he had symbolized wasn't one that I had an ounce of affection for. Besides, even if I had wished to act, I doubted that I could have. When Anakin Skywalker had died, at least half of me had perished, and I was as adrift as a man at his own funeral.

I had taught and advised Anakin like he was my son. I had assisted him and saved his life more times than either of us could count like a best friend. That was perfectly sensible, as he was the nearest thing I would ever have to a child and he was my best friend, even if I had known Bant and Garen since I had been knee-high to Master Yoda. Yet, the bond between us was even deeper than that; it was that of brotherhood. Like brothers, we had bantered and laughed. Like any brother from either spiral arm of the galaxy, I could gaze at him and see a person who resembled me but differed in crucial ways. As any sibling did, I knew everything about him that irked me and every tendency of mine that aggravated him. Unconsciously, I even knew everything about him that brought out the best in me, just as I unconsciously understood what traits of mine highlighted his virtues. Of course, like any brother, I had neglected to tell him my most important, most scandalous secret: that I loved him.

Even when I had said everything else during our farewell on Coruscant, I had kept that thought to myself, and now that the galaxy's most renowned pilot no longer needed a pair of wings to fly, the guilt was crippling me and the air in Grievous' cockpit was stifling me. There were so many times I could have told Anakin how much he had meant to me, and I had never done so. Now I would never have the opportunity to do so, because we only have so many chances to make things right before death intervenes and compels us to spot our mistakes when we can no longer fix them.

Sure, I had a rational reason not to tell Anakin how much he meant to me. Brotherly love was undeniably an attachment. That being established, the Jedi who admitted to it without immediately stating it was a flaw had probably been sniffing too much contaminated engine lubricant recently. Somehow, I had operated under the delusion that an attachment was somehow less real if you didn't acknowledge it, but now that it was too late, I knew differently. Attachments were my vice as much as they were Anakin's or Qui-Gon's, and that's how I got myself into so many catastrophes and so much heartache. After what had happened on Naboo, you'd think that I would have possessed the sense not to from attachments, but I had latched onto Anakin, because I didn't want to be alone any more than he did…And now he was forever out of my reach by holocom or spaceship.

It should have been some comfort that the Clone Wars were essentially over now that Grievous and Dooku had been disposed of, but this fact only depressed me more. After all the Jedi had contributed to ending the war, so few of us would be alive to see its conclusion. At the end of all these years of wistful remarks about how wonderful life would be when the fighting with the Separatists was finally over, almost no Jedi would be present to enjoy the benefits of relative peace. Obviously, there was no such thing as happily ever after for any of us. No, all we received was a bitter end to what had felt like an endless battle. People who paid through their noses to attend a lame play had no right to complain about anticlimactic occurrences after what the Jedi endured, I determined.

Finally, after hours of brooding, I reached Senator Organa's starcruiser. After docking and disembarking Grievous' vessel, the first thing I saw when I entered Bail Organa's ship was Master Yoda, who was standing placidly next to the worried-looking statesman, as if nothing worse than a minor traffic delay had transpired instead of a full-scale slaughter of his Order. If Anakin were here, he would have grumbled that Yoda's hundreds of years as a Jedi Master had made him too detached, and that he no longer really cared about the beings he trained and worked with. Of course, Anakin wasn't here, and, in the interest of preventing further battering of my heart, I ought to stop contemplating what he would say or do in any given situation, since he would never be speaking or doing anything else ever again. Now that he was dead, I should just leave him in peace.

"You made it!" exclaimed a plainly relieved Senator Organa.

Before I could respond, Yoda greeted me, as well, his gravelly voice refreshingly ordinary after all the grenades that had rocked my whole world in the past few hours, "Master Kenobi, dark times are these. Good to see you it is."

"You were attacked by your clones, also?" I demanded, too rattled to engage in any pleasantries.

"With the help of the Wookies, barely escape I did," Yoda confirmed softly.

At his words, I gawked at him. Yoda was by far the most accomplished Jedi in the Order, and Wookies were a strong species famous for their habit of ripping the limbs off anyone who beat them at sabaac, so if he had hardly managed to escape his clones with the aid of the Wookies, even fewer Jedi could have survived than I thought. Pictures of Jedi being shot by their own soldiers flooded my mind, and forcing some semblance of composure upon myself, I asked through numb lips that refused to move as they should, "How many other Jedi managed to survive?"

The second the last syllable choked its way out of my mouth, I called myself nine kinds of idiot. That was one question that I didn't want to know the answer to, because I was a coward who preferred blissful ignorance to agonizing knowledge. Like all weak people, I would have preferred to construct a merry fantasy rather than hear unpleasant facts.

"We've heard from…none," Yoda replied, bowing his head in sorrow.

None. This grim statistic echoed resoundingly throughout my suddenly hollow head. None. That meant that Garen Muln was dead, as were Reeft, Luminara Unduli, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Barriss Offee, and so many others that I couldn't recollect now and that I had never been familiar with. Never again would I admire Garen's lightning reflexes in a cockpit or tease him about his boot size as I had done ever sine we were crechelings. Never again would I hand over a piece of bread or fruit to Reeft when he fixed his doleful Dresselian eyes on me in the rectory, pleading for more food as he had been doing ever since he learned how to beg. Never again would I look into Luminara's stunning blue eyes as we discussed galactic affairs. Never again would I have the blessing of Ki-Adi-Mundi's wisdom as we sat together in the Council chamber. Never again would I see Barriss Offee heal anyone with her calm confidence.

In one terrible day, I had lost so many people that I cared about, and I had no notion of how I would ever recover. I could try to convince myself that they all were in a better place where even soldiers knew peace in the Force, but that would require a leap of faith, and that was one gymnastic stunt that I could never perform correctly. Instead, all I could tell myself was that they were dead and that I would never interact with any of them ever again, because their lives had brutally been chopped short by clones they had believed were their allies.

"I saw thousands of troops attack the Jedi Temple," mumbled Bail, his voice unsteady. "That's why I went looking for Yoda."

His comment sent my brain reeling again. It was as I had feared: clones had invaded the Temple itself. They must have slaughtered the younglings. Bant with her compassionate large Mon Calamari eyes and her mild manner could have blaster bolt holes lining her body. Jocasta Nu with her lightsaber sharp mind and tongue might now be resting in a pool of her own blood in the Archives…

No, I wouldn't space down that lane. I had to remember that the odds surely dictated that someone besides Yoda and me had survived. With that principle firmly in my head, I inquired hoarsely, "Have you had any contact with the Temple?"

"Received the coded retreat signal, we have," Yoda educated me.

That was the one that requested all the Jedi retreat to Coruscant, but if the clones controlled the Temple, then any Jedi who obeyed the signal would walk into a trap. We couldn't let that happen. We had to get to the Temple and alter the beacon. That way, any other surviving Jedi would be warned away. If we hurried, we might be able to save a few more lives, and, at the present, any life we could get was a major bonus.

"The war is over," sighed Bail. He didn't sound as happy as he would have been just a day ago if this had been true, and I couldn't blame him. At the moment, the last thing I could imagine doing was celebrating.

Before Yoda or I could respond, one of Bail's pilots appeared in the doorway and informed the Senator, "We are receiving a message from the Chancellor's office."

"Send it through," Bail commanded.

A moment later, the unctuous voice of Mas Amedda, Chancellor Palpatine's chief aide who was almost as slippery as Palpatine, filled the chamber. "Senator Organa, the Supreme Chancellor requests your presence at a special session of the Senate."

"Tell the Chancellor I will be there." Bail's face tightened slightly as though he were suspicious of Palpatine's intentions, but his tone was level.

"Very well," Mas Amedda agreed, and then terminated the transmission.

The instant that Mas Amedda's oily presence faded, Bail regarded Yoda and me apprehensively. "Do you think it's a trap?"

"I don't think so," I murmured. Of course, my thoughts didn't count for much in this matter, since I hadn't foreseen the clones' ambush, either. "The Chancellor won't be able to control thousands of star systems without keeping the Senate intact." At least for now, added my inner cynic, but that was hardly a tactful inclusion to make. Yes, Bail Organa had proven that he was no coward today when he had rescued Yoda and me, but everyone's courage had limits, and after all the Senator had gone through he deserved some reassurance. "We have to go back to the Temple, too. If there are other stragglers, they will fall into the trap and be killed."

Slowly, Bail and Yoda nodded in affirmation, and it was decided like that. Yoda and I would return to the Temple and destroy the signal deacon that was summoning other Jedi home for execution while Bail listened to Palpatine address the Senate. Who exactly was better off in this scenario was a mystery to me.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: I'm back finally. Now that I'm a freshman in college, I have no idea how quickly I'll be able to update in the future. After all, I didn't go to college to write fanfics all day…

This was a challenging chapter for me to write, so I'm sorry if it is in anyway lacking.

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to my oldest and best friend for reminding me that true friends offer explanations, not excuses, for their actions, and that's how they get forgiveness.

Disclaimer: If I were George Lucas, Anakin probably would never have turned to the Dark Side, depriving the entire Star Wars saga of a plot. Therefore, it stands to reason that I am not him and am just a normal college freshman.

Bloodbath

When we arrived on Coruscant, Senator Organa was able to draw on his high political office to secure us a rapid entry through the atmosphere of the planetwide city. Similarly, once we had entered the atmosphere, Senator Organa's ship avoided a vast majority of the endless deadlock that was Coruscant's idea of a standard traffic pattern by virtue of its owner's exalted rank in galactic society, which allowed Organa to travel about the ecumenopolis in a lane for the exclusive use of those whose status in politics and business was so great that they practically required air tanks to breathe properly. Therefore, it did not take us as long as it would have for a normal civilian craft to reach the Senate docking bay.

The instant Senator Organa, Yoda, and I descended the ramp and strode onto the landing platform, we were approached by a squadron of armed security forces who demanded to see our identity cards. Their brusque tones combined with their stony expressions established more empathically than words could that if we did not have ID cards or if our cards did not provide appropriate authorization for our presence we would be detained in the foulest prison on Coruscant if we were lucky or promptly vaporized if we weren't.

Reflexively, with the air of a man who was accustomed to thrusting his ID card under the nose of security officers due to constantly accessing restricted governmental premises that common tax payer citizens whom the government claimed to serve every year at election time were not permitted to enter, Bail handed his ID to a guard. The sentry scanned it for a moment, and then returned it to Organa with a satisfied nod, obviously seeing that Bail was indeed who he purported to be.

"Thank you. You may proceed," the security officer told Organa in the bored voice of a professional who has recited the same phrase five days a week for too many years to contemplate without lapsing into depression, as the Senator accepted the proffered ID card. Then, as his gaze lit on Yoda and me, his manner perked up as he beheld a route to a rapid promotion and a luxurious suite in Coruscant's prestigious equatorial sector, and he added, "We will take custody of the Jedi."

Well, plainly, the Senator's ID card wasn't going to provide us all with clearance, and it was just as apparent that the guards had recognized us as Jedi, not aides. That was too bad, but Jedi had always been able to gain access to buildings with more than mere ID cards. After all, we could utilize more subtle means of persuasion.

"It really would be much better if my counterpart and I remain with the Senator," I announced in the soft, rational fashion I employed whenever I was involved in negotiations and was waging what often seemed like an uphill battle to convince fanatics that it actually was more sensible and required less effort to verbally resolve issues with their neighbors instead of slaughtering them. In this case, I neglected to elaborate on why it would be better for Yoda and me to accompany Organa, but I hoped that the Force push I gave the minds of all the security guards would do the trick of a decent explanation. If not, I would have to pull out the credits.

However, fortune favored me enough that bribery was unnecessary, for the sentries nodded as though I had made an irrefutable argument and gestured for Yoda and me to follow the Senator. They didn't even protest when us Jedi did not trail Organa into the mushroom dome of the Senate, but rather headed toward the Temple. The Force could be a sadist with a perverse sense of humor that was too ironic even for my tastes, but it undeniably had its redeeming facets, such as mind tricks, I noted as we journeyed toward the Temple, and I deliberately refused to imagine what we would see when we arrived at our destination.

It was just as well that I had not wasted my energy and my sanity musing about the horrors that would greet the Grand Master of what remained of the Jedi and I when we entered the Temple. After all, nothing I could have pictured would have prepared me for the reality of it. The nightmare began outside the grounds when we spotted obsidian smoke billowing from what should have been the Jedi sanctuary, but had now become the Jedi execution chamber. The smoke choked me, and I felt like I was being strangled. Somehow, I knew it wasn't just the smoke that was congesting my nose, my mouth, and my throat. Somehow, my unconscious recognized that it was the sight of my home smoldering before my very eyes that was asphyxiating me. Looking at the smoldering Temple was like watching my childhood dreams of being a noble guardian of peace going up in flames, was like seeing proof of the destruction of our Order and everything we represented in the galaxy be burned into nothing, and was, in many ways, like watching the Republic be devoured by a fire.

The ordeal only worsened as we entered the Temple in our Jedi robes and were welcomed home by a squadron of clone troopers who had donned Jedi attire in order to ambush any real Jedi who came in. Gazing at the simple beige clothing of our Order and knowing that it would not be worn by the protectors of justice in the galaxy for many years at best, I found that my throat constricted further, moisture pooled in my eyes, and my heart tore in half. The fact that the robes were now being worn by those who would kill us if given an eighth of a chance only ripped into my soul further.

Maybe the Force was merciful because it afforded me little time to dwell on this, as Yoda and I were busy deflecting the attacks of clones for several long minutes. By then, I had recovered enough from the blow of what the clone troopers had donned to be able to absorb the carnage around me without needing to purchase a one way ticket to a mental health clinic. At this point, I could see the bodies of beings I had eaten with, studied with, attended lectures with, gone on missions with, and meditated with strewn all over the hallways and the rooms of the Temple in grotesque positions. The gore I had witnessed in the Clone Wars should have prepared me for bloody scenes like this, but it hadn't. Nothing could brace someone enough that they could look at the battered corpses of friends and teachers without wishing to die as well. Nothing could prepare someone to glance down at the forever motionless, forever young bodies of crechelings, younglings, and Padawans without wanting to rage at the universe for its cruel indifference to life and without being tempted to cry for a galaxy filled with sentients who could commit such atrocities. Even if there were a method to become immune to such emotions, I wouldn't desire to. Anyone who could behold such suffering without feeling anything was a monster. Someone who had lost his heart entirely was no Jedi.

All the corpses were immensely disturbing in their own fashions, but, for me, the most disconcerting were the ones that had been mowed down not with blaster fire but with a lightsaber. Those beings must have been killed by the Sith Lord, because nobody else who carried a lightsaber would perpetrate this heinous crime.

A most un-Jedi anger blossomed in me like a crimson haki flower in the spring when I looked at these bodies, and I almost wished that another squadron of clones would assail us so that my mind could stop focusing on the Sith.

Unfortunately, the Temple, as I had noticed on numerous occasions throughout my career as a Jedi had either been devised by maverick architects over the centuries or else ones high on glitterstim, since it was an enormous warren that would have made any self respecting Maaki weasel envious. As the Temple was full of passageways that ended abruptly and turbolifts that did not connect with various segments of the edifice for no clear reason, it took many Padawans years to learn their way around the building, and Jedi who were away for months at a time were prone to getting lost as well. As such, it was not alarming that the clones, even with their genetically engineered intelligence, did not know about many of the hallways that Yoda and I slipped through as we traveled to the main control center, because they had been here for less than a day.

Still, avoiding the clones ate up time, and, as a result, it was full night by the time we reached our destination. Yoda stood guard by the door of the main control center while I reset the beacon. Then, thanking Anakin mentally for all the things he had taught me about mechanics through the years without either of us really detecting it just as many of the characteristics of our best friends seep into us via a sort of osmosis that neither party ever notices, I added a few twists with my multitool to conceal what I had done.

Resetting the beacon instead of merely switching it off took longer, and, when Yoda shot me a questioning glance, I explained, "I've recalibrated the code to warn any surviving Jedi away."

"Good." Yoda bobbed his head in grave approval of my spur of the moment decision. Gesturing at the doorway to indicate that we should depart before the clones stumbled in on us, he continued, "To discover the recalibration, time it will take. To change it back, longer still. Hurry."

Early on in my existence, I had developed the habit of obeying Yoda's commands as quickly as possible without debate. Now, though, I didn't comply with his directive. Instead, I walked over to the security holocam module. I had to know the identity of the person who had slain all those Jedi. There wasn't much I could do about it now, but I needed to know. I couldn't be centimeters away from learning the truth only to shut my eyes to it.

"Master Obi-Wan, the truth you already know," Yoda remarked softly, as my hand stretched toward the button that would replay the holocam recordings. "To face it will only cause you anger and pain."

No, I didn't know the truth. Yes, I had noticed that the lightsaber burns and slices on the Jedi who had been felled by the Sith had all been clustered in areas that would be targeted by a practitioner of Form V, and, sure, I had also observed that Anakin was not among the dead, even though he would never have fled from a battle, and he always placed himself at the front lines, which should have made him one of the first corpses. Yet, the fact that he wasn't lying here wasn't damning evidence against him. After all, he could have been killed when the Jedi tried to arrest Palpatine or earlier when he brought news of Grievous' defeat. No, Anakin was my best friend and was far too good a person for such doubts…

I wouldn't sully Anakin's memory by doubting him. I would replay the recordings, feel my heart shredded into a thousand pieces as I watched Jedi being slaughtered, and see the real Sith murder the Jedi. My heart would break, but at least I could remember Anakin in peace. At least I could console myself with the fact that he hadn't been the one who had butchered the room full of younglings that Yoda and I had been forced to walk through.

"I must _know_, Master," I insisted, pushing the button. For the rest of my life, I would curse myself for my benighted pigheadedness. In the future, not a day would pass when I wouldn't regret refusing to trust my instincts and stubbornly taking nothing on faith. It was my need for proof that made me see the most haunting bit of what happened at the Temple.

As soon as I pressed the button, the holocam replayed itself, repeating every dreadful detail of the bloodbath that had enfolded in the Temple. Somehow, however much I wanted to flee from the sight, my leaden legs obstinately remained still. Similarly, however much I wished to avert my gaze from the massacre, I couldn't do it. Something inside me was compelling me to witness the full extent of the nightmare that had swept through the Temple.

Numb from my brain down to my toes, I stared at the screen as clone troopers fired relentlessly on Jedi, knocking them down never to arise again. Then, an azure lightsaber flashed onto the scene, sweeping wide and cutting down Jedi after Jedi. Many blades crossed it, but none could triumph over it. Its wielder was too strong and too swift, sending it about in wide thrusts that inflicted as much damage as a hurricane. As I had suspected, the one who had used a lightsaber against the Jedi was a master of Form V, and funnily enough, the cloaked figure shared more with Anakin than just fighting techniques. The murderer of the Jedi also had a frame just like my best friend's, but my former apprentice could never do anything as horrid as this. After all, he was a champion of the innocent and the weak, not their executioner.

I had just managed to convince myself that the one who had plowed down the Jedi was not Anakin no matter how much he had resembled my old Padawan when the Sith pivoted to chop down another Jedi. The movement afforded me a direct look at his face, which bore an eerie resemblance to the features of my best friend.

Of course, the man who had gone on a murderous rampage through the Temple hadn't been Anakin. Anakin had his faults, but he was not deliberately cruel. In the final analysis, he was really a large, friendly dog trapped in a small chamber that ended up knocking over a chair every time he wagged his tail.

"It can't be," I whispered, staring blankly at the holocam recording. He could not have been the one who pierced through Bant's chest with a lightsaber. She had treated him with nothing but warmth and compassion since the moment he had arrived at the Temple, and there was no way he could repay her kindness with such callousness. It was impossible that anyone who was familiar with Bant's gentle purity could cut her down so brutally. By the same token, Anakin could never have slaughtered a chamber packed with younglings. Force, my former Padawan had enjoyed volunteering in the crèche and teaching children about combat styles. Granted, there may have been more than a trace of ego in his actions, but nobody who had spent any time with such idealistic, eager youths could want to kill them. Yes, Anakin was capable of appalling savagery in his fits of temper and he was able to make incredible errors in his impatience. Yet, he would never have a burst of fury or impatience with this duration that would enable him to massacre so many of his fellow Jedi. "It can't be."

Even as I shook my head in denial, I knew that it could be, and, worse still, it was. Any Jedi could fall prey to the Dark Side of the Force. With civil war and bloodshed enshrouding the galaxy, the Dark Side was consolidating its power every day at the expense of the Light Side, and every second it became simpler for a Jedi to plummet into the abyss of evil that nobody ever escaped from.

Ever since I had met him, Anakin Skywalker had relished life on the edge, so was it really so shocking that he had finally come tumbling over it? Was it really so astounding that even he could only defy gravity for a limited time span before he came crashing down? Was it truly so amazing that after he had soared to his pinnacle of might in the Clone Wars he came smashing back down with equal inertia after they had concluded?

Yes, as much as it humiliated a cynic like me who should have been smarter, it was. Somehow, although it stood in stark contrast to all logic, I had persuaded myself that my apprentice's glory would never truly fade, and that we would really be best friends forever. In all honesty, I had been naïve enough to believe that forever was really going to last. It was marvelous for me that I was such a cynic most of the time, because I was a complete imbecile once I trusted someone, so if I put faith in more individuals, I probably would have been a corpse by now. After all, I had taken Commander Cody's loyalty and those of his men for granted, and, in the end, they had aimed their blasters at me with the intent of killing me. I had believed in Anakin, and he had defected to the Dark Side and gone on a murderous rampage in the Temple. Now, all my other friends were dead, and I had nobody else I could place my faith in except Yoda. Yoda was powerful and wise, but he couldn't compensate for all those I had lost. I was a shattered shell of a man now, and nothing he or anyone else did would ever change that.

For a long time, I gaped at the pitiless holocam recording. I saw Anakin plunge his lightsaber through Whie in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Suddenly, I remembered with a pang how, during the crossfire at Vjun, Whie had run into Anakin and asked with wide-eyed terror if Anakin was about to kill him. At the time, Anakin's suggestion that I examine the lad for a head injury had seemed perfectly sensible, because, at the time, it had been unfathomable that Anakin would pierce a Jedi Padawan through with his lightsaber, but now I felt like Whie had been on to something. Now, I felt like Whie had foreseen the depths to which Anakin would plummet, and I was positive that I should have spotted the warning signs.

After all, I was the Jedi who was closest to him, and I had been the one who had been charged with training him. Yet, I couldn't even pinpoint when he had started his skid. Simply put, I had done the most dangerous thing a mentor could do: I had become so attached to my pupil that I could no longer see him clearly. That was one of the reasons why attachment was forbidden to a Jedi. At the present, I had no quarrel with the restriction on attachment. If I had never become attached to Anakin, my heart would not have felt as cold and as heavy as stone as it did now. If I had never cared about Anakin, then I could never have truly been betrayed by him, since it is always only those nearest to our hearts who can do that.

Looking back, I could see all the points where I had erred in training Anakin. Since hindsight was twenty-twenty and wisdom never came along until it was too late, I could spot exactly where I should have corrected him. I could discern all the outbursts I should have curtailed, all the tantrums I shouldn't have tolerated, and all the displays of wrath or impatience that I should have compelled him to control. To many times, I had been a friend to Anakin when what he truly required was somebody who could place limits on him, because he could never discipline himself. I had failed in my role as Master.

Unluckily for the Jedi in the Temple, I had managed to teach him some things. Under my tutelage, he had become an unstoppable duelist. Somehow, although he apparently had absorbed none of my lessons in self-control, humility, and mercy, he had lapped up everything I could tell him about lightsaber fighting. One didn't have to possess a sniper's vision to detect blocks and counterattacks that he had learned from me. Like all Form V duelists, my former Padawan mainly drew on Soresu as a means of defense, and it was no surprise that he had copied what Form III he used mainly from me. That's what made watching the recording of him destroying the Jedi all the worse, because he was utilizing what I had taught him in the most awful manner imaginable.

As I gaped at the recording, I saw him slaughter Jocasta Nu in her beloved Archives, and I knew every stroke he would make before he made it, but I was helpless to defend her. After years of battling alongside Anakin, I knew every move he would make before it happened. I didn't even need the Force to help me in this. Experience was enough. Maybe I hadn't been as familiar with Anakin's soul as I had envisioned myself to be, but I was very well acquainted with his fighting style.

He was a whirlwind of destruction, a master of Form V, someone who could execute every maneuver of his chosen style flawlessly, and, like all brilliant swordsmen, he was capable of improvising. Like all expert bladesmen, he was skilled at inventing his own assaults and parries, as well as able to switch to other forms to retain the element of surprise. Indeed, it was this flair in improvising that made his swordsmanship an art, because it rendered what he did something that transcended practice or technique—something that was a gift from the Force. A gift he was using wrongly. A gift he was drawing on to murder younglings who could never have been a threat to him.

What a fool I had been to train Anakin. Agreeing to train him hadn't just been a display of folly; it had been a demonstration of arrogance to rival any of Anakin's. In thinking I could train Anakin, I had convinced myself that I could control something as dynamic as a force of nature, and now I had to face the appalling consequences of my pride. Now, I had to look at the monster I had built, and, worse still, I had to know that nothing I could do would halt it. I had created a monster, but I couldn't unmake it, because it was far mightier than me. I wished that I had never sworn to Qui-Gon that I would teach Anakin, I wished that I had died instead of Qui-Gon, I wished that we had never made an emergency landing on Tatooine, I wished that I had never noticed Tatooine on the star chart, I wished I had never set foot on Naboo, and I wished that I had never set eyes on Anakin Skywalker. Most of all, I wished I could go back in time and make everything right.

Yet, I couldn't do so. Somehow, I would have to face the consequences of my actions or lack thereof. Somehow, I would have to find atonement in the present and the future, instead of lamenting that I couldn't travel back in time and fix the past with that method. How exactly I could find redemption, and whether anything could really make up for what I had done was still something of a mystery to my befuddled brain that was refusing to function even half as well as it usually did.

My mind was distracted from reflection upon this enigma by the arrival of a second figure on the screen. The figure's face was masked by a hood that would have conveyed a sense of menace even if Anakin had not knelt before it and announced, "The traitors have been destroyed, Lord Sidious."

At his words, a wave of searing white ire washed over me with the velocity of a tsunami. No, the traitors had not been destroyed. In fact, the only way the traitors would have been destroyed would be if Anakin Skywalker had been killed. Right now, I despised him more than any other man I had ever had the displeasure of meeting. He hadn't just betrayed me when he became a Sith. No, he had turned his back on the Jedi, the Republic, and everything those two entities had represented. Then, he had the gumption to assert that the Jedi were the traitors when he was the worst backstabber of them all. However long I lived, I would never forgive him for turning his back on himself and his destiny, thereby letting everyone in the galaxy down.

"Good, good," drawled an unctuous voice that I recognized with a start as Chancellor Palpatine's, and abruptly I no longer loathed Anakin. Instead, I detested Palpatine. It was Palpatine who had slipped into Anakin's brain and twisted him into a beast. It was Palpatine who had manipulated him into an agent of the Dark Side. It was Palpatine who had drawn out the shadow elements in Anakin at the expense of all his lighter attributes. It was Palpatine who had been pushing gradually into the depths of true evil ever since they had met when my apprentice was only nine-years-old.

Someone who could gaze at a youth and dream of nothing but corrupting it was a psychopath of the most terrifying sort, and I had never identified Palpatine as such because that thought process was absolutely alien to me. Ultimately, my life revolved around serving others, and I had always been prepared to sacrifice myself and everything I valued for the general good. Of course, I hadn't been enough of an airhead to suspect or imagine that most sentients were governed by similar principles. Indeed, I didn't even believe that most beings were essentially decent. Yet, ever since I was a Padawan, I had been convinced that individuals were at heart motivated by one thing. For some, it was a desire for money or possessions. For others, it was a thirst for power. For me, it had been service to the Jedi and the Republic, and, by extension, the Force. For Anakin, I realized that it had been Padme. As for Palpatine, it seemed to be nothing but the advancement of the Dark Side and evilness. That was why at that moment I wanted nothing more than to tear the newly revealed Lord Sidious limb from limb and feed the remains to the hawkbats. At least, that plan would suffice until a more painful and ignominious fate could be concocted for him.

However, Jedi did not indulge in hatred, and I was not about to fall down the same slippery slope that Anakin had. Besides, death wouldn't have been a fair punishment for Sidious. No, if I had wanted to inflict the most agonizing thing I could imagine on him I would keep him alive and give him my life. I would let him feel the pain of watching younglings get slaughtered. I would compel him to see people he had associated with all his life be mowed down all in one day. I would make him witness the bloody death of his oldest friends. I would force him to see his home and his sanctuary desecrated by gory corpses. If I could, I would make his heart be ripped asunder by the betrayal of his best friend. I would make him feel the awful jab in the stomach that I had felt when I realized that Anakin Skywalker was worse than dead. He was alive physically, but he was forever out of my reach now that he had murdered his own soul and forged a new identity for himself as a Sith.

Yet, I couldn't shove such a fate on Sidious, because nothing was sacred to him, he had no friends, and he expected betrayal. No, he would never be able to experience such pain as I had, but that was just as well. When it came down to it, I did not wish for anyone to suffer, and I was still a Jedi. No matter what, I would be a Jedi, even if our Order had been all but demolished, and a Jedi would not wish to inflict such anguish on any being even if they had committed crimes as heinous as Sidious'. Revenge was not the way of the Jedi; it was the low path that the Sith traversed. To go down it was to enter the forest from which no one emerged. Justice was different from revenge, and it should never be confused with it at the peril of losing one's soul.

Now that I had seen what had happened to Anakin, I was only more determined to stick to the Jedi path as staunchly as a monorail did to its tracks. I would not make the same mistakes that he did, I would not break under pressure as he had, and I would not cause myself and others so much misery as he had. I would remain true to my training until my last breath, even if it bought me nothing but my soul.

"You have done well, my new apprentice," Sidious continued, and I flinched. All I could think about was how long Anakin had been my apprentice. Suddenly, I found myself remembering things I hadn't considered in years. I recalled his squirming when he was learning to meditate, his constant complaints that just about every planet we visited was too cool and too damp, his obsession with mastering various maneuvers with his lightsaber, his love of swimming once he had discovered that he wouldn't drown, and his fascination with the bustle of Coruscant when he had first arrived in the worldwide city. The idea that I would no longer be the one who guided Anakin stunned me. He was my apprentice, not Sidious'. "Do you feel your power growing?"

"Yes, my Master," confirmed Anakin, bowing his head. Shuddering, I mentally implored him to show some sign of remorse. If he would just demonstrate some trace of horror at what he had done, it would have rendered everything that had transpired recently just a little less awful, but there was no hint of sorrow in his tone. It was flat, as if he deemed that there was nothing appalling in his actions, and another knife lodged itself in my gut. I had wanted to believe that the savagery he had displayed wasn't truly him, but now I couldn't do so.

Perhaps it was for the best. After all, I had been making excuses for him for years. Indeed, I had cut him far more slack than I cut myself and more than Qui-Gon would ever have cut me. Yet, Anakin had never appreciated what I had done, or acknowledged my leniency. Well, I couldn't offer it anymore. There was a point where even I couldn't offer excuses for him, and, for many years, he had been clamoring for independence. Part of independence was being held accountable for one's behavior. Just as I could no longer dictate what food he consumed, I could no more protect him from the consequences of his errors. He was an adult now, and it was up to him to decide what he did and deal with the results.

"Lord Vader, your skills are unmatched by any Sith before you," Sidious replied, and I buried my head in my hands as I heard Anakin's new name. Vader. Force, that sounded like a typo for invader. Well, it may not have been original, but it was certainly accurate. "Now, go and bring peace to the Empire."

Empire. The word slammed into me with all the strength of a battleship. Our Republic had become an Empire under my watch. Despite my most valiant efforts, the Republic had perished, and I couldn't escape the overpowering sensation of failure. Not only had I messed up in training Anakin, I had not protected the Republic well enough. It was a frail consolation that it wasn't really my fault that Anakin had turned, since you could hand someone a knife and teach them to slice vegetables for supper with it, and it wasn't your problem if they elected to stab someone in the chest with it. Needless to say, it was also a poor comfort that the fall of the Republic had been brought about by trillions of sentients: politicians were to blame because they had forgotten the ideals and the people they were intended to serve, and common citizens were at fault because they had neglected to protect their liberties by refraining from protesting when they were trampled on. Neither of these facts made it easier to deal with the notion of the Sith dominating the galaxy again.

Unable to face the possibility of more dreadful revelations, I switched off the replay button, and both Yoda and I sat in numb silence for a long moment, locked in our own worlds of grief.


	17. Chapter 17

Dedication: As I have every year since I started writing fanfiction, I would like to dedicate this chapter, which I published closest to September eleventh, to all those who died in the terrorist attack that day, because I think the more we forget about heinous things like that, the greater the odds are that atrocities like that will continue to occur.

Reviews: Review, or I'll send Vader after you, too.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, but I do own a cool new Yoda poster, which is almost as awesome…

Brothers All the Same

How long had Sidious been planning the destruction of the Republic and the Jedi? I asked myself. Obviously, as anyone with the cognitive abilities of a psychic hotline caller could discern now, he had been using the war not only to enhance his power as Chancellor at the expense of the courts, the Senate, the Constitution, and the Jedi. No, he also had been utilizing it to tear the Republic apart. From the start, this crusade to save the Republic was intended to undermine it. Every move a Jedi had taken to rescue the Republic and democracy had ended up smashing it into the mud instead. Only our commitment to the war had prevented us from spotting what was right in front of us: that truly winning the Clone Wars was impossible and that any hopes about life after the war were broken dreams right from the outset. The only victor of the war could ever be Sidious, not the Republic or the Separatists.

After all, the main purpose of the conflict was merely to offer a guise under which Chancellor Palpatine could become Emperor Palpatine, so that Palpatine could realize his objective of galactic domination and absolute power. The secondary reason had been to consolidate Palpatine's authority in the face of a war that conveniently never was won no matter how close it could sometimes seem to completion, as well as thin the ranks of the Jedi, who were the sworn defenders of the Republic and the ancient nemesis of the Sith.

Of course, the Clone Wars hadn't just killed Jedi. No, it had also spread those who remained alive everywhere from the Core to the Outer Rim, so that they were easier prey when the time came for the final attack—when Palpatine decided that it was the moment to execute Order 66. Never before had execute been a more appropriate verb to accompany an order, I noted dourly.

Now, as a result of Order 66, I knew that there might only be two Jedi left. Sure, if I ever got my optimism bone replaced, I could hope that some other Jedi had survived on other planets. However, after I had beheld the haunting carnage in the Temple, I was as positive as I was that Palpatine was a two-faced megalomaniac that there were no more Jedi still among the living on Coruscant.

As often happened when I contemplated the Sith at length, my mind wandered back to the first Sith I had ever encountered. Against my will, I recalled the scene that dogged my nightmares: the bestial Sith Lord with his horrible facial tattoos plunging one of his dual blades into Qui-Gon's chest. Once I had recovered from the wave of agony that always deluged me when I recollected Qui-Gon's death and pictured again my failure to save him because I had run a shade too slow, I ruminated over whether Sidious' plot went back that far.

A second later I could have rolled my eyes in exasperation with myself. It was times like this that I was compelled to conclude that what I lacked in intelligence I more than compensated for with stupidity. Of course, the scheme had reached back that far. After all, Palpatine was a master sabaac player, and even then, he had been furthering his interests through subtle machinations that in the short term amounted to little, but in the long term made all the difference in the galaxy.

Suddenly, I knew that Sidious had been controlling the Trade Federation, and that the whole point of the invasion of Naboo had nothing to do with a debate over taxing trade rates. The entire debacle on Naboo had existed only as a pretext for Senator Palpatine to become Supreme Chancellor. As this epiphany stuck me, leaving me reeling as though I had just been backhanded by Yoda, I was stunned by the evil of Palpatine. To mess around with the lives of the thousands of beings that inhabited Naboo as if they were pegs in a board game instead of organisms with feelings and thoughts was awful enough. That the sentients whom he had abused had elected him to serve and champion them made his actions all the more reprehensible. Yes, I harbored no delusions about the morality of politicians. In fact, I was well aware that most politicians had no problem redirecting money from the treasury into their own pocketbooks and accepting bribes from corporations that would hurt their people, but allowing everyone on their world to be imprisoned or shot by battle droids was further than even the average dictator would go.

Palpatine wasn't an average dictator, though. No, he was a Sith. His soul was blacker than deep space, his heart was a hollow cavern, and the only principle that he lived by was that of self service. In his perverse mind, anything that glorified him was good, and anything that hindered him was evil. He was the antithesis of everything that a Jedi should encapsulate, and he had corrupted Anakin into a copy of himself. Now the Chosen One who should have been the ultimate force for good in the universe was its most dangerous adversary, and everything that had been light in the Republic was now dark in the Empire thanks to the strings Palpatine had pulled.

Then, after the Naboo conflict, in which Palpatine had been indirectly responsible for Qui-Gon's death offering another reason to despise him, Palpatine must have seduced Dooku, much as he had tempted Anakin. Seducing Dooku to the Dark Side had ensured that by the time Palpatine's term was nearing an end as dictated by the Constitution, which wasn't yet regarded as a series of suggestions, the Separatists would be ready to start a civil war that could provide a handy excuse to keep Palpatine in office.

Even the clone troopers had probably been created at Palpatine's bidding. First, they would allow the war against the Separatists to remain in a state of stalemate as long as necessary. Then, the unquestioningly obedient clones would be the perfect means by which to assassinate hundreds of Jedi at the same time. Now that the Republic was an Empire, the clones would no doubt be Palpatine's way of forcing compliance with his rule upon any worlds that challenged his bid for absolute power over what had once been the Republic. Every cruel dictator required an army to intimidate the populace, squash any hint of rebellion, and enforce his iron will after all.

At this point, Yoda finally interrupted my gloomy musings. His gravelly voice containing a resolution I doubted I would ever posses again, he announced as if it were as simple as boarding an airbus on Coruscant heading toward the equatorial district, "Destroy the Sith we must."

Flinching inwardly, I observed that he hadn't just said Emperor Palpatine. No, he had said the Sith. The Sith, as anyone with a brain the size of a nuna pit could tell, now included Anakin. There were true Sith now, a Master and an apprentice, as there always were, and there were only two Jedi that I knew of that could stand in opposition to them…

"Send me to kill the Emperor," I pleaded, desperate to escape living the gory hypothetical scenes that were flooding my brain. On top of everything that I had gone through recently, I couldn't voluntarily enter a situation in which I would either have to hit Anakin with the fatal blow or let him do the same to me. Yes, Anakin may have been a Sith now, but he was still my brother. No matter what he did, he was my brother all the same, and I couldn't kill him. He was part of me, and trying to kill him would be the death of me. Brothers could mock each other and wound each other in just about every way known to sentients, but they couldn't kill each other. The bound between them that neither could shatter no matter how much they wanted to prevented it, I thought, bowing my head. "I will not kill Anakin." And even if I would, I couldn't.

"To destroy this Lord Sidious, strong enough you are not," remarked Yoda, eyeing me as sternly as he would a youngling who had let slip a disgusting swear word in his presence.

I knew he was right. Yoda almost always was, and his analysis of the newly revealed Sidious'combat abilities was hardly likely to be an exception, since Sidious had probably been the death of Mace Windu and the other Jedi who had attempted to arrest him. I wasn't on par with Mace Windu when it came to lightsaber fighting by any stretch of the imagination, and I wasn't enough of an egotist to harbor under the delusion that I was.

Yet, I was crazy with grief enough at the moment not to care. I would rather die than battle Anakin Skywalker. Even after Anakin had betrayed me in the worst possible manner, I would not want to duel him, because I didn't wish to be the one who killed him as he had murdered so many Jedi. No, I would much rather fight Sidious than Anakin. After all, death at the moment was looking like a mercy. When I perished, I might finally know peace and maybe I could even see the other Jedi that I cared about so much in a theoretical afterlife that I wasn't certain I believed in. Even if there was no afterlife, though, at least the pain would cease, which I would value more than a chamber full of Corusca gems at this point.

"Anakin's like my brother," I tried to explain in a broken tone that reflected the fact that Anakin had shredded my heart. "I cannot do this."

Yet, even as I established as much, I knew that I could. When it came down to it, I was as devoted to one thing as Anakin and Palpatine were, but the thing I felt most obligated to wasn't Anakin. No, it was the Jedi. The Jedi had always taken priority over Anakin, as they had when I convinced Anakin to spy against Palpatine a few days ago, and loyalty to them would supersede commitment to him once again. Brothers could chop one another down if brotherhood had never been the most important thing to either of them, just as brothers could be divided if loyalty to each other wasn't the most crucial part of their lives. After all, it wasn't a hyperspace leap from a verbal sparring match or a pretend duel to a real one with lightsabers, and, once lightsabers were drawn, it was entirely likely that the fight would become deadly.

"Twisted by the Dark Side, young Skywalker has become," Yoda informed me softly. "The boy you trained, gone is. Consumed by Vader."

Yes, that was right. I wouldn't be killing Anakin. I would be killing Vader. Anakin was already dead, and Vader had been the one who did the deed. In fact, by murdering Vader, I would be doing my part to avenge Anakin, because Anakin would have desired nothing more than to see Vader killed for the crimes he had committed against the Jedi. Anakin hadn't killed the younglings; Vader had and he was the one who must be punished. Killing Vader wouldn't just free the galaxy from his brutal tyranny, it would be what Anakin would wish for if he was standing here. In memory of the noble Warrior of the Infinite and Hero with No Fear, I would rid the universe of Vader and do everyone but Sidious a major favor. It was my duty to do so, and I would fulfill my obligations.

Still, I couldn't stop myself from hearing the nasty voice inside my head that reminded me that Vader and Anakin were the same person, and I was going to slaughter the boy that I had trained ever since he was nine. I was going to be the one who stifled his laughter forever. I was going to be the one who squashed the spark of life from his blue eyes forever. I was going to be the one who ensured that he never traveled to every world in the galaxy. I was going to be the one who guaranteed that he never repaired another droid. I was going to be the one who ensured that he would remain forever motionless. Force, I must be even more insane than I had suspected if I was seriously contemplating killing the person whom I had loved and nurtured like a son. Sons who murdered their fathers were psychotic, but men who exterminated their own sons were even worse. In fact, did just imagining being the death of Anakin Skywalker make me even eviler than Palpatine, assuming, of course, that anyone could beat Palpatine in sheer maliciousness?

"How could it have come to this?" I moaned, trying to release my despair into the Force and failing dismally. Apparently, even the Force wasn't powerful enough to serve as a balm for my anguish.

"To question, no time there is," ruled Yoda briskly, no doubt futilely attempting to prevent me from lapsing into depression, as he headed toward the door of the control room.

"I don't know where the Emperor sent him," I argued in a last ditch effort to avoid having to take responsibility for the monster I had created. "I have no idea where to look."

"Use your feelings, Obi-Wan, and find him, you will," replied Yoda, as if he were instructing a reluctant Padawan. Listening to him, I barely managed to squelch a groan. Once again, I was too smart for my own good, because I didn't even need to use my feelings to know where to commence my search for Anakin. No, I already knew that if I wanted to find Anakin, I should just visit Padme.

"Visit the new Emperor, my task is," continued Yoda. Then, he glanced at me with sympathy and understanding, but no lenience. "May the Force be with you."

"May the Force be with you, Master Yoda," I responded through dry lips, thinking that I would definitely need all the aid from the Force I could get if I was going to battle the Chosen One.

Even if he had been manipulated by the Dark Side into a beast, Anakin would be a mighty duelist, and the dead Jedi lining the Temple were a testament to that. At best, we were equals when it came to lightsaber fighting. At best, it would be a decicred toss between which of us won and which lost. Worse still, I wasn't even certain that I wanted to emerge the victor. That was undeniably the wrong attitude with which to enter a duel to the death with someone as lethal as Anakin Skywalker, and it was an even worse mindset with which to head into mortal combat with an Anakin Skywalker who had surrendered to the Dark Side.


	18. Chapter 18

Up in Flames

Traveling through the congested airlanes of Coruscant on the way to Padme's conapt was a surreal experience. Everything looked as it had before I had chased after Grievous, but appearances, in this instance, as in so many others, lied. In reality, everything had altered. At least, in my world, everything had flipped around faster than it did on a warship with a malfunctioning artificial gravity generator. In my mind, where there had been light, there was eternal darkness, where there had been hope, there was fear and despair, and what had been noble had become savage. As such, I had finally learned the harshest lesson of all: we couldn't trust our own instincts any more than we could holoadvertisements for a do-it-yourself surgery kit.

I couldn't wait to get to Padme's residence. She would steady me. In a shifting universe, I could still rely on her to be a constant beacon of goodness and light. Of course, that wasn't why I had to visit her. No, I had the honor of seeking her out to explain to her what atrocities Anakin had committed. I had to be the one to break her heart the way Anakin had shattered mine, and then I would require her help to destroy the man she loved most in the galaxy. Why the Force had cast us in leading roles in a tragedy instead of a comedy was a real mystery to me. After all we had endured, didn't we deserve some happiness? It was at times like this when I suspected that the Force had created the universe just so it could have fun playing around with it by rules that it made up on the spur of the moment as the game unfolded. In short, life for everyone in the galaxy was like trying to play a seemingly endless round of holocards that nobody knew the rules to in a pitch black room with a dealer who seemed to control everything and was always smiling in an enigmatic (and thoroughly vexing) fashion.

I knew one thing though: I was as likely to discover merriment in the Coruscanti traffic right now as Jar Jar was to write the next galactic bestseller. Coruscanti airlanes were always jammed with air speeders and other craft generally driven by pilots of dubious skill. As usual, the crowd of speeders inched along, accompanied by the irate honks of impatient pilots who imagined that their blaring horns would somehow be the catalyst that propelled the masses of vehicles forward at high speeds.

Normally, I wished that these drivers would chop off their hands or equivalent limbs so that the rest of us could have some peace while we waited in a traffic jam, but now I sympathized with them. My empathy soared especially when I arrived at an intersection with flashing neon arrows directing those in the right lane to turn right, and an alarming number of beings in that lane either did nothing or attempted to head left. Rolling my eyes, I considered breaking the speed limit and reaching Padme's conapt all the sooner. However, I reminded myself sternly that getting pulled over by the Coruscanti police was not advisable for a fugitive Jedi and followed all the flying laws to a letter.

When I arrived at Padme's conapt and landed on her private docking pad, I wasn't surprised to be greeted by blaring security alarms. Senators had to be well-guarded, after all, or at least, in the Republic, they did. In the Empire, there might not even be the need for senators now that we had Palpatine to handle all the pesky tasks of government for us.

I feared that I might have to face a hostile Captain Typho or a squad of his men, but it was only C-3P0 who emerged from the residence to challenge me, and, given his programming as a protocol droid, its confrontation skills were minimal at best.

"Hello. May I help you?" it asked, its tone wary but somehow not entirely impolite.

Obviously, it didn't recognize me. Not wanting to be spotted by any neighbors, but wanting to be recognized by C-3P0 at the same time, I folded back my hood enough for the droid to see the outline of my face.

"Master Kenobi." C-3P0's photorecptors changed their illumination settings enough to suggest astonishment. Recovering itself, it beckoned me inside, remarking, "Come in quickly. You may be seen."

As I was already aware of the need for secrecy, the droid didn't have to tell me twice, for I was swift to trail it back into the parlor of Padme's residence.

"Has Anakin been here?" I asked, already knowing that he would have been.

"Yes," C-3P0 educated me at its most matter-of-fact. "He arrived shortly after he and the army saved the Republic from the Jedi Rebellion."

Saved the Republic? Anakin had wrecked the Republic, and there had been no Jedi Rebellion to rescue it from in the first place. Even if there had been, younglings wouldn't have been a part of it, but Anakin had slaughtered them anyway. It was only further proof that Anakin was evil incarnate that he had built C-3P0, the blasted protocol droid who would remind me of all the horrors Anakin had committed as though they were boons to civilization and as though I could ever forget them.

Suddenly, I wanted to rip C-3P0 apart as I had dismantled Grievous. As I struggled to control myself, C-3P0, who must have noticed my anger, faltered, "I'll just go fetch the Senator, shall I? She's been lying down. After the Grand Convocation, she didn't feel entirely well, and so—"

Mercifully, he was interrupted mid-babble by the arrival of Padme, who dashed down the curving stairwell from her sleeping quarters and rushed over to greet me as her protocol discreetly withdrew.

"Master Kenobi!" she shouted, flinging her arms around me. Instantly, my cruel thought that I had never been gladder to see the back of C-3P0 was replaced by guilt at the knowledge that her joy at spotting me alive would be transformed into despair fast enough to shatter land speed records once she discovered the intent behind my visit. Prescience was a curse. It made us long to change things we couldn't. "Oh, Obi-Wan, thank goodness you're alive."

"The Republic has fallen, Padme," I announced gravely, feeling that there was precious little goodness in the galaxy left to thank and that I ought to begin playing my role as the bearer of bad news as soon as possible. Somehow, it would be too cold even for me to add too much to her elation only to crush her with the revelation that the Anakin she loved no longer existed. "The Jedi Order is no more."

"I know," she replied softly, locking somber brown eyes on mine. For a second, I wondered if Anakin had told her what he had done already. No, there was no way she could countenance murder on that scale after she had freed her planet from the clutches of the Trade Federation and had been a staunch advocate for peace and diplomacy for years in the Senate. Like her friend Bail, she was one of the few noble sentients in the universe and one of the handful of organisms in whom I could still have faith. "It's hard to believe."

She shook her head, her features reflecting a profound sorrow at the fate of the Republic that she had championed as fiercely as any Jedi. Then, the flicker of pain was replaced by a resolute mask, as she continued, "But the Senate is still intact. There is still some hope."

"No, Padme," I answered heavily. Sure, the Senate might still exist as a physical entity for as long as it suited the newly revealed Sidious, but it wouldn't be a true authority in galactic politics for decades in the most optimistic estimation. The Sith had all the power now, and they had never been ones eager to share their might. "It's over. The Sith rule the galaxy now, as they did before the Republic."

"The _Sith_?" Padme gaped at me, appalled by the implication that Palpatine was a Sith.

"I'm looking for Anakin," I went on, taking advantage of her silence, because I didn't have the time or courage to answer a million questions right now. Besides, most of the questions she would raise would be ones to which I had no decent response. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Yesterday," she murmured, her one word reply alerting me to the fact that she was plainly figuring out if she should confide Anakin's whereabouts to me.

"Do you know where he is now?" I pressed.

"No." Her eyes lowered as she established as much, and I didn't need the Force to tell me she was lying. The manner in which her gaze slipped away from mine was a screaming indication that after all we had endured together she found it awful to lie to me. Yet, she would do it for Anakin.

"Padme, I need your help," I pleaded. "He's in grave danger."

"From the Sith?" she demanded.

She looked so relieved that something finally seemed to be making sense that I was tempted to nod. However, then I recalled that she was a strong woman who did not require my protection and deserved to know the truth about the man she loved, rather than shielded from it. Besides, I couldn't lie to her in order to get information out of her. Therefore, steeling myself for her distress, which would be at least as powerful as mine when I had uncovered the identity of the Jedi who had gone on a murderous rampage through the Temple, I shook my head and said the words that were the most difficult ones ever to pass through my lips, "Anakin has turned to the Dark Side."

There it was. The truth was out in the open, where I couldn't deny it any more even if I wanted to, and I certainly did. The words were stark, but at least they were honest, unlike just about everything else in the galaxy, and Padme and I deserved the truth if we could have nothing else. Saying things like that was just my way of absorbing reality by compelling myself to face it, no matter how revolting it was.

"You're wrong," Padme protested, as scandalized as she would be if I had suggested that Anakin had always been in love with Asajj Ventress. "How can you say that?"

"I've seen a security hologram of him killing younglings." As I recollected the gruesome scene Yoda and I had discovered in the Council room, I thought bitterly that she should believe me. My imagination wasn't creative enough or perverted enough to invent anything this lurid and heinous. Even if it was, I wouldn't make up stories like that about Anakin. He was my best friend and my brother. In fact, I didn't want to believe Anakin capable of murdering younglings any more than she did, but I couldn't ignore the evidence when it stared me in the face even for his sake. There was a point at which even love could no longer be blind and when it had to confront reality, as horrible as it was. In this galaxy, nothing could kill you faster than fantasy. That's why I had to destroy Padme's before it ruined her.

"Not Anakin," she insisted, shaking her head in fervent denial. "He couldn't."

But he could. He had learned to kill quickly and reflexively during the Clone Wars. Once you knew how to kill, you could do it to anyone, and anybody could fall victim to their own darkness. Even the best navigators could lose themselves so thoroughly that they could never be found again. That was what had happened to Anakin.

When I somehow managed to choke out that Palpatine was a Sith and Anakin was his new apprentice, she burst out shakily, "I don't believe you. I can't."

Her use of the word "can't" revealed far more than she probably intended it to. It was clear that she was wavering. Intellectually, she must have realized that I wouldn't make up lies about Anakin, but she also didn't want to believe my words, because they would demolish her mental image of the man she cherished so much. Abruptly, it occurred to me that maybe she couldn't handle the truth when it was merely spoken. Maybe, like me, she needed to see proof thrust before her eyes in order to accept the truth. I had tried to save her from the agony of actually seeing for herself how far Anakin had plummeted, but I couldn't by virtue of the very strength of her love for Anakin.

"I must find him," I stated after a moment's pause.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" she asked, half-accusing and half-begging me to deny the charge.

I didn't, because I couldn't. Force knew, I did not want to be the one who was the death of Anakin, and I hoped that it wouldn't be necessary, but, if it was, could I do it? Not only was he at least as accomplished a duelist as I was, I wasn't positive that I could strike the fatal blow even if the opportunity presented itself. In the end, all I could do was bow my head and comment in a near whisper, "He has become a very great threat."

Indeed, he could dismember the entire galaxy, and, now that he had converted to the Dark Side, he would be perfectly happy to do so if the whim struck him. Even though I was well aware of that, I still wasn't certain that I would do away with him if I had the chance, since I still believed that redemption might be possible for him, and he might return to me. Whatever my problem was, it was probably difficult to pronounce, assuming that psychologists had even devised a name for it, and I wasn't bringing human lunacy to never-before-seen levels.

Overcome with horror at the implication that I would kill Anakin if I found him, Padme sank into her divan, her face crumbling. As she collapsed onto the sofa, her shimmersilk gown twisted close around her stomach, revealing the unmistakable bulge of pregnancy. Spotting my stupefied expression, she yanked her dress away from her body, but it was too late for that. Already, I had seen another thing I wished I hadn't. Already, I knew everything.

I knew that Anakin must have forgotten the crucial "safe" word again with dire consequences, as "getting in trouble" had never been a more apt term for a pregnancy. I knew that he must have been petrified that his secret would get out, and he would be expelled from the Jedi Order. The pressure he had been under had been even worse than I had envisioned, because he hadn't just been torn between Palpatine and the Jedi, but also between Padme, Palpatine, and the Jedi.

Yet, that didn't justify what he had done. Nothing excused a massacre. Entertaining the notion that anything did was the first step down the shadowy path to the Dark Side, and, in many ways, the fact that Anakin was about to be a father made it even more appalling that he had slaughtered all those younglings…Well, so much for the idea that fatherhood softened people…Still, I couldn't help but wish that Padme had been a typical immoral and irresponsible senator and secretly terminated her pregnancy. After all, while the galaxy would have benefited from more Padmes, it did not require more Anakins.

"I can't—" she began, but I cut her off gently.

"Anakin's the father, isn't he?" Even as I posed the question, I recognized that it was pointless. She loved Anakin too much to have engaged in any other affairs while he was at war. Next I would be asking what two and two added together equaled, although, given the alarming mutability of the present universe, that inquiry wasn't quite as foolish as it sounded.

When she offered a mute nod, all I could do was shake my head for what felt like the millionth time in the past hour, marveling at how crazy I was to even be considering killing Anakin when Padme was carrying his child, and mumbled, "I'm so sorry."

As I pulled up my hood and walked toward her landing pad, I noted despondently to myself that the phrase summed up my life at the moment. I was so sorry that the Sith had returned. I was so sorry that all the Jedi were dead. I was so sorry that the Chosen One had defected to the Dark Side. I was so sorry that I had created a monster that I couldn't control even if I wanted to. I was so sorry that I had to ruin Padme's life by destroying her faith in Anakin. I was so sorry that I had to confront my best friend and brother. I was so sorry that I had failed Qui-Gon. I was so sorry that I had failed everyone when it came down to it. I was so sorry that I had done my best and it still hadn't been anywhere near good enough.

My mind teeming with such morbid musings, I clambered into my vessel and took off, but I didn't go far. Instead, I flew out of sight of Padme's conapt, dropped down a few levels, and circled back around. Within a couple of minutes, I had slipped back under her landing platform. Now, all I had to do was wait. Padme would lead me to Anakin without being aware of it. She loved him so much that she would desire to learn the truth behind my words as soon as possible. She would want proof that he had turned to the Dark Side before she believed him capable of such behavior. Love would betray her as it had so many others. My analysis was validated as I watched her starship being prepared for a journey, and soon the wind bore the sound of Captain Typho trying to dissuade her from going on her mission to my ears.

"My lady, at least let me come with you," he implored her when she refused to be stopped.

"Thank you, Captain, but there is no need." I heard Padme answer. "The war is over, and this is a personal errand."

"As you wish, my lady, but I strongly disagree," acceded Typho, his disapprobation apparent even as he bowed to her.

"I'll be fine, Captain. After all, I have Threepio with me," she reassured him, and I admired the generosity of a woman who could bring herself to console someone when she was in the midst of emotional turmoil—an emotional turmoil that I deeply regretted being the cause of.

Listening to her, I personally felt that Padme would be of more protection to the droid than it would be to her. Perhaps C-3P0 agreed with my mental calculation, for I could hear it gasp, "Oh, dear."

After Typho and his security guards departed, Padme and C-3P0 boarded her craft. As soon as she entered the ship, she wasted no time in disembarking. Indeed, the vessel's repulsorlifts were activated before the landing ramp had even retracted, and I had to jump for it. I had barely swung inside when the hatch sealed itself, and my stomach lurched as the ship leapt toward space.

Trailing Padme had been easy, I observed inwardly, as I found a compartment to conceal myself in, ducked inside it, and shut it with the Force. Though she had been endangered on numerous occasions, she had never mastered the knack of watching the shadows around her for potential threats, and her security guards had possessed no reason to suspect that she might be followed. Here was yet more evidence that Padme was the sort of being who believed the best of everyone until situations compelled her to spot the worst. Such faith, which was rarer than ice on Tatooine in a politician, should have been strength rather than a weakness, and it definitely depicted everything that was wrong in the galaxy that it was such vulnerability.

I wouldn't contemplate that, though. No, I would just meditate until we arrived at our destination, and I had to confront Anakin Skywalker and discover in the worst possible fashion the answer every crecheling, child, teenager, and adult wanted to know: In a fight where anything was legal, would Kenobi or Skywalker win? Of course, I would also learn the answer to my private question of whether Kenobi or Skywalker would ever really go into a battle with the purpose of slaying each other. Yesterday, I would have claimed it was impossible, but yesterday I would have made a lot of statements that I had already been shown to be false. Yesterday, I would have said that Anakin would die before he joined the Dark Side. Yesterday, I would have said that Anakin would never have gone on a murderous rampage through the Temple. Yesterday, I would never have thought that the Republic could become an empire overnight. Yesterday, I never would have imagined that the galaxy would be dominated by the Sith again. Unfortunately, today I couldn't be as much of a fool as I had been yesterday.

At least, that was what my mind told me. However, my heart was of a different opinion, and it was in a very vocal mood, for it kept snapping at me that I was a horrible person to even be asking myself if I could kill Anakin. Yet, my head volleyed back, I was hardly the sickest person in the galaxy, because everyone from the Core to the Outer Rim had been debating such a question since the benighted Holonet began exaggerating the adventures of Kenobi and Skywalker. What idiots most sentients were to believe that there was anything heroic about either of us. How stupid the pair of us had been to imagine that our friendship was really going to last forever and that we would truly triumph over the darkness if we worked together. The truth was it took a lot more than two people or the whole Jedi Order and a few allies in the Senate to defeat the dark, and it didn't matter how glorious a struggle you put up against evil if it emerged victorious in the end. Only results mattered, and we had all failed.

Now, all I could say was that I was glad that nobody but Padme and C-3P0 would be around for the battle between Anakin and me, because I didn't want anyone betting on the outcome. After all the time we had spent in the limelight, we deserved some privacy, and nobody should profit from a duel to the death between best friends, anyway.

Luckily, in the end, I managed to squelch these ideas out of my brain long enough to meditate. I was shaken out of my meditation as the starship jolted in what must have been shifting air currents on whatever planet we were touching down upon. Swallowing my nerves, I waited as I heard Padme race out of the vessel. Then, I exited my compartment and headed for the landing ramp.

On my way past the control panel, I glanced at the navicomputer and saw that we were on Mustafar. Charming. The whole planet was coated in lava, and there were no native species to inhabit this harsh world. In fact, its only residents were mining droids, who drew lucrative ores out of the planet's core and shipped them off to the wealthy, bloated corporations that owned this world. The constantly erupting volcanoes and streams of molten rock would make an appropriate background for the fight between Anakin and me, I decided grimly, because it was as tempestuous as our relationship had been. Similarly, the planet was an oddly right place for our confrontation, since I had always thought that Mustafar would never freeze over, much as I had always been convinced that Anakin would never betray me, even though galactic scientists already knew that in another ten thousand years, which was but an eye blink in the universe's perception of time, the planet's orbit would change and its core would chill, making it a snowball world even colder than Hoth. Just as Mustafar would one day be a frigid mass of snow and ice, Anakin would betray me. My senses could be fooled, and nothing was ever as it appeared. Mustafar should burn that lesson into me if Anakin's betrayal didn't.

When I reached the landing ramp, I didn't descend it, however. Instead, I stood at the top of it and stared down it as Padme and Anakin were reunited. As naïve as it sounded, I still hoped that she could restore Anakin Skywalker to himself and revive the noble being that he had been. I wished that it wouldn't be necessary for either of us to murder each other, after all. I hoped that something in her would drive him to redemption in a way that I couldn't.

Optimism trickled through me when I saw the animation on his face when he spoke to her, and I was reminded of how passionate he could be in his pursuit of justice, but it was halted when I heard the horror in Padme's voice as she stepped away from him, pleading, "Stop now. Come back! I love you."

For a fraction of a second, I thought that her entreaty might succeed as his features softened, but I knew this was not to be so when a savagery I had never witnessed before in him dominated his face as he caught sight of me and screamed, "Liar!"

"No." Padme stared at me with frantic brown eyes before whirling to regard Anakin again. Even before she spoke, I sensed that he would never listen to her now. The Dark Side had twisted his mind into a paranoid mess if he perceived betrayal in her when she had already been faithful to him beyond reason. If anything, she was the one who had been double-crossed by to him and me.

"You've betrayed me," he howled. Rage rendered his face an unrecognizable mask as he lifted his hand and curled his fingers into a fist, which he directed at Padme—

Force, he had fallen farther than I had envisioned. He was going to choke her. He was about to strangle the woman whom I had imagined he had loved beyond all else. Worse still, she was carrying his child. He was willing to kill his baby just as he had mowed down the younglings at the Temple.

Somehow through my horror, I had the presence of mind to move forward. Perhaps something inside me had snapped as surely as it had in Anakin. Maybe I had finally arrived at my own boiling point. Perhaps I had determined that I wasn't about to permit him to be the death of anyone else if I could prevent it, since I wasn't going to fail to protect innocents from him again.

"Anakin, let her go," I barked, as I lurched forward, hoping that years of training with me would cause him to obey reflexively. Since the tragedy of my life was that I had never been able to discipline Anakin, he didn't release her, and she clawed desperately at her throat, struggling to remove an invisible hand that nobody but Anakin could.

"You won't take her from me," growled Anakin, sounding like an early ancestor of a human who was about to claim a female by raping her. He had gone absolutely insane if he thought that I wanted to steal her. Apart from the fact that there had never been anything more than a friendship which had taken years to develop between Padme and me, even now I wouldn't betray him by taking her away from him if she didn't want to go. Anyway, it wasn't like she could be stolen. She wasn't a possession, for Force's sake; she was a person.

"You turned her against me!" he hollered, his eyes bulging as Padme collapsed. Flinging my cloak aside, I bent over to check on her. She was still alive, as evidenced in a slow pulse, but she required immediate medical attention.

"You have done that yourself," I retorted, infuriated at his determination to make himself sound like the victim in all this when he was the perpetrator of just about every crime I could think of at the moment. He was the one who murdered the Jedi at the Temple. He was the one who joined the Dark Side. He was the one who tried to strangle his wife and unborn baby. He was the one who broke Padme's and my hearts by ruining himself like this.

Oh, and he was ruined. Here, in his presence, I could feel what the hologram couldn't show me: the roiling cloud of the Dark Side that enshrouded my former apprentice. Wrath, jealousy, and possession charged the air around him like ions. His eyes simmered like the lava that surrounded us, and I remembered suddenly the predatory eyes of the Sith I had combated on Naboo so many years ago when war had been a novelty and the fall of the Republic a mere nightmare. Remembering how devastated Anakin had been when Qui-Gon had been killed by a Sith, I informed him sharply, "You've let the Dark Side twist your point of view until now you are the very thing you swore to destroy."

"Don't lecture me, Obi-Wan," scowled Anakin, who clearly couldn't bear to hear the truth and would much rather cover his ears to block it out. "I do not fear the Dark Side as you do." I considered pointing out that I did not fear the Dark Side after my own brush with it on Naboo, but was denied the chance to do so as he continued, delving further into the depths of insanity, "I have brought peace, justice, freedom, and security to my new Empire."

"Your new Empire?" I repeated. Under other circumstances, this would have been hilarious, because the man who was forever complaining about politics now wanted to be in charge of the whole galaxy. Oh, what a disaster the former Republic would be if he was the one in power, seeing as he was the person who believed that members of opposing political parties should knock themselves out with their own placards and leave everyone else alone and that the elderly should lose their health benefits if they persisted in driving at a constant speed of twenty-five kilometers beneath the speed limit everywhere, including into buildings. It might even be worse to have him in charge than to have Palpatine in power. At least Palpatine had experience in government, after all.

Abruptly, Anakin pivoted and strode away from me, as though he were unable to gaze at me any longer. "Don't make me kill you," he tossed over his shoulder, as if I had ever been capable of truly controlling him and as if we wouldn't be here if I had. Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps the Force had placed us in a comedy, after all, but only the audience could see the humor, since we were so caught up in the drama.

Still, as much as I hated myself for being a sentimental imbecile, the words struck a chord inside me. Surely, there must be a trace of Anakin left for me to redeem if he would offer a statement like that. No, I had to stop thinking in that manner, or I would get myself killed before I could fulfill my duty, which was unacceptable, because I had made a gigantic mess, and, as I had been taught in the crèche, it was now my obligation to tidy it up as best I could. He had his chance at salvation with Padme, and he hadn't grasped it. My ultimate allegiance wasn't to him, after all, and I knew he would kill me if he had the opportunity. After all, what brother wouldn't murder his sibling if he could? Brothers hated and envied each other as much as they loved each other, and with Anakin now the Dark Side would always win out over the Light.

"My allegiance is to the Republic, Anakin," I declared stiffly, wishing he would lay down his lightsaber and surrender, so that we wouldn't have to do battle, and already knowing that it was a wasted hope. Anakin was a fighter. He would never give in without a struggle, and he would rather die in combat than surrender and face justice. "To democracy."

It didn't matter if they were both dead. My loyalty still rested with them, and they wouldn't really be gone until I had perished.

"You are with me, or you are against me," he snarled, as patient with my word games as he had ever been.

"Only a Sith Lord deals in absolutes, Anakin." Sighing reluctantly, I ignited my lightsaber and stared down at it, numb at the concept that I had actually drawn it. This couldn't be happening. Anakin and I couldn't fight like this. We would sooner kill ourselves than murder one another.

"You will try," Anakin snorted derisively, activating his own weapon. As he flipped through the air at me, I steeled myself for the onslaught and forced myself to accept the reality of this scene. We were really going to fight each other to the death, because in current galaxy, there was very little anyone wouldn't do anymore.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: This chapter was very challenging to write, because there is a lot of emotion and action in it, so I'm sorry if it didn't turn out too well.

Fiery Birth

As Anakin's lightsaber hummed toward me, a calm certainty filled me. Anakin was going to kill me. My jokes about him being the death of me were going to come true in a manner that I had never imagined. My former Padawan would murder me, and, at that moment, he would surrender himself entirely to the Sith, whose apprentices lived to kill their Masters.

Oh, I'd make Anakin work hard for the kill. I was too much of a fighter and a survivor not to struggle against him with everything that I had when push came to shove, but I knew with absolute sureness that accompanied any Force-given insight that I would perish at Anakin's hands. After saving me countless times, it would be him that killed me, and I supposed there was a sort of perverse logic and justice to that.

My lightsaber clashed against his in an instinctive parry. We had sparred together so often and waged so many battles alongside each other that we knew each other's favorite moves as well as we did our own, so it required next to no thought to counter Anakin's attack. Our flashing lightsabers providing an eerie luminescence to a scene that would have seemed garishly out of place in even my wildest dreams, we fought our way down the hallway and into the control center, me surrendering ground in every exchange, as was my habit.

Throughout this entire terrible skirmish, I realized that there was no way that the essentially defensive Soresu could rival the slashing brutality of Djem So. All Soresu did was provide a means to hold a Form V practitioner at bay until they exhausted themselves and an assault could be launched that they hopefully wouldn't be able to defend. Unfortunately, he had about as much energy as I did patience, and he possessed approximately as much perseverance as I did resilience, so we would probably be locked in this hideous tableau for a very long time.

What made this confrontation so terrible wasn't just that we were best friends and brothers who were now struggling to exterminate each other amidst the lava of Mustafar. No, it was that even as we fought to the death with every ounce of strength we had at our disposal, it didn't feel like a lethal lightsaber fight, or at least, it didn't in my heart, where such matters weighed the most. As idiotic as it sounded, in my heart, this nightmare felt familiar and even pleasant. In the chamber of insanity that was my heart, this whole debacle was just another practice session onboard a warship or in a Temple training room where a duel as intense as this would end with a chuckle and mutual congratulations, not a death and despair. My heart still perceived this as puppy play rather than a clash between alpha wolves.

On the plus side, I wasn't the only one handicapped by his own fantasies, or else I would have been chopped up into a thousand pieces by now, and in the torn expression of my opponent's, I could spot a reflection of my own anguish.

"Don't make me destroy you," Anakin repeated. His face changing from tortured to derisive, he sneered, "You're no match for the Dark Side."

"I've heard that before, Anakin, but I never thought I would hear it from you," I countered, gritting my teeth, as I blocked every blow his weapon aimed at me. I'd heard pronouncements like that on far too many occasions from Xanatos, from Ventress, and from Dooku, but I had never imagined that I would hear such a thing from Anakin, especially after he had heard the hollow boasts of Ventress and Dooku and proved them incorrect so many times. Surely he could remember that the power of the Dark Side had not saved either Ventress or Dooku. It had given them the illusion of invincibility, not the reality, and in that illusion their downfall was born. Pride always came before a fall, and that's why Anakin and I were here. Our egos had persuaded us that we could survive anything as long as we were together. Fate was punishing us for our arrogance by making us destroy each other – it was our destiny to have the illusion of our invincibility as a team broken the way the fantasies that Dooku and Ventress had constructed of their own invincibility had been demolished.

By now, we had arrived in the control room. There were the headless and limbless corpses of the leaders of the Intergalactic Banking Clan, the Trade Federation, and the Commerce Guild that had been important members of the Separatists strewn across the chamber like rubbish scattered across a city street on a blustery day. Here was more of my former apprentice's handiwork, and, while doubtlessly the craven sentients in this room had presented far less of a challenge to kill than the Jedi, I surmised that Anakin had taken considerable delight in taking the lives of those who had played a crucial role in orchestrating the bloody battles that had been his existence for the past three years. For him, revenging everyone he had known who had perished in the Clone Wars would be a sweet triumph.

Even as my mind absorbed all this, my arms danced, weaving my lightsaber in a deadly shield against all of Anakin's assaults.

Anakin backflipped onto a table to gain the high ground, but I had been anticipating such a maneuver and did not follow. Instead, I threw myself into a long slide and knocked him over. While he fell, Anakin's fingers lost their grip on his weapon.

Reflexively, I snatched the hilt, which I observed numbly had contours in it in almost the same locations that mine did, because Anakin had modeled his lightsaber after mine when he had constructed it what seemed like a millennium ago when we would have laughed for an hour if someone had been crazy enough to imply that we would become Holonet heroes in a desperate civil war to preserve a dead and decaying Republic. Staring down at the blade, I wondered how in all the neighboring galaxies Anakin was supposed to kill me when he didn't have a lightsaber. Was the Force wrong? No, that was impossible…

Taking advantage of my distraction, Anakin charged forward. Before I could swing either weapon, Anakin was tackling me. His left hand seized my right wrist, holding my lightsaber at bay, while his prosthetic right hand grappled to regain possession of his own weapon.

In the end, durasteel and seromotors proved stronger than bone and flesh, and Anakin managed to wrench his lightsaber away. Barely pausing long enough for either of us to breathe, he lurched forward, his blade pinwheeling through the air as he attacked ferociously once more.

Our duel led us onto a balcony above a river of muja and crimson lava. A slender pipe that appeared even frailer since it was delicately poised over so much molten rock connected the control center to a collection plant on the far bank of the boiling river. As Anakin's blows somehow managed to intensify, I was forced to retreat onto the pipe, where a single misstep would send me plunging into lava so far below. Well, I had always performed best under pressure, but I would have preferred it if the stakes weren't so high. Of course, after all the things I had botched up, it would have been unfair if any of my wishes had come true…

Crossing the collection plant was, as I had suspected, difficult, even for a Jedi who had been trained in gymnastics since childhood. At one point, I slipped and nearly tumbled into the lava, an experience that caused my heart beat to rise by about one hundred percent, and my Jedi reflexes and agility barely permitted me to recover in time. As I noted dumbly that I was fortunate not to be a crisp, Anakin, who had followed me onto the pipe, rushed at me, driving me further back onto the collection plates.

Within a second, Anakin had joined me on the collection plant, which, it transpired, had not been designed to support the mass of two men. Worse still, in the heat of our battle in the control room, we had smashed the shield controls that protected the collection plant from the fiery lava, which weakened the structure. As a result, a spray of molten rock from the river of lava melted one of the supports and caused a huge section of a collection wing to break away. Unfortunately, when this component broke apart, Anakin and I were on it, and we were carried away with it.

Still, our fight went on, even as the collection tower sank slowly into the lava, and, still neither of us could gain an advantage.

But that wasn't really true, I thought as I evaded and parried Anakin's strikes. Both of us were in turmoil as our compulsion to murder each other clashed with our inability to kill the brother and best friend whose life we had defended with our own and who we would have gladly sacrificed ourselves for a few days ago. Yet, Anakin had turned to the Dark Side, and agony strengthened the Dark Side as much as it weakened the Light. Thus, Anakin had an edge in this confrontation that I couldn't match without doing the inconceivable and defecting to the Dark Side myself. The only way I could rival the power the Dark Side furnished him with was if I let go of my own despair and allowed the Light Side of the Force—the true side of it that knotted all living organisms including me and this evil, merciless new Anakin together—to make me its instrument.

That was hard—the hardest thing I had ever tried to do in my life—and maybe even impossible. For in releasing my anguish into the Force, I would be letting go of the Anakin who was my student, my brother, and my closest friend. I would be confessing that this time I couldn't rescue the man whose life I had saved on numerous occasions, and who had saved my sorry skin at least as often. I couldn't do it. I couldn't admit that the Anakin I knew was dead and never coming back again. I couldn't face that I couldn't save him from his worst enemy: himself. When it came down to it in the final analysis, I didn't even want to try, because that would make me the ultimate failure as a teacher, as a brother, and as a friend, because nothing was worse than a mentor, a sibling, or a friend who lost faith in his pupil, his brother, or his buddy. In short, I would rather have died than admit that the Anakin Skywalker I had known was dead, because his spirit was gone while his body lived on.

As the collection plant sank further into the lava, I looked about for a means of escape. Spotting a droid platform floating on air near the tower, I took another swipe at Anakin, grabbed a hanging cable, and swung out toward the platform. At the height of my swing, I flipped into the air and landed on the platform.

The platform wobbled as I touched down upon it, but it held my weight. Leaning to one side, I steered it away from the collection tower, hoping that the sinking tower and burning lava could achieve what I had lacked the resolution and the courage to finish.

That was not to be, though, for when I glanced back, I saw that Anakin was standing on a worker droid, approaching me rapidly.

"Your combat skills have always been poor," Anakin taunted, as he reached me and our blades locked again. "You're called the Negotiator, because you can't fight."

Combat skills do not make a Jedi, I thought as Anakin sprang off the worker droid and onto the platform opposite me. Our lightsabers sizzled as they collided, and I found it ironic that even as he mocked my fighting skills, he used attacks and parries that I had taught him. Indeed, it was the tragedy of my life that I had instructed him so well in combat, but not in the patience and the control that was befitting of a Jedi. All of the Jedi Anakin had slaughtered could thank me for their deaths, because I had taught him all the wrong things. Therefore, I was responsible for creating a monster that nobody, certainly not me, could slay.

"I have failed you, Anakin," I informed him, shaking my head, and thinking that this statement would cause me a lot more pain than it would him. "I was never able to teach you to think."

That was the crux of the problem. Anakin had never learned to consider the consequences of his actions or think strategically not because he wasn't bright, but because I had never forced him to. Yes, I had encouraged him to, but I had always been around to provide all the answers and the overall direction. That was all very well when I was around, but I couldn't be by his side forever, and without me it had been so easy for him to become ensnared in Palpatine's trap since he never stopped long enough to contemplate the ramifications of his actions before setting himself in gear. Force, I had been such a fool not to teach him to use his brain, and my stupidity was rendered all the worse by the fact that General Kenobi was famed for his cleverness.

Well, of course I was. I had to be. Ever since I was little, I had to rely on my wit, because it compensated for my many inadequacies. Maybe his connection to the Force had hindered Anakin's logical development, since it would warn him of dangers, freeing him from the necessity of attempting to foresee them himself. If that was factual, then I was even more at fault for not showing him how to think critically.

To my surprise, Anakin nodded in agreement at my words, and my astonishment grew exponentially when he went on as though it were as rational as going to a restaurant to eat dinner, "I should have known the Jedi were plotting to take over."

"From the Sith!" I cried, feeling like he was wearing blinders and consequentially missing the truth that was glaring him in the face. "Anakin, Chancellor Palpatine is evil."

"From the Jedi point of view," Anakin snapped. "From my point of view, the Jedi are evil."

Deflecting his strike at me, I observed inwardly that if nothing else did this highlighted the absurdity of our confrontation. "From my point of view" was a phrase one expected to hear in an academic debate over the impact that the Stark Hyperspace Conflict had on the price of durasteel not in the midst of a bitter lightsaber battle between former best friends and brothers who had both failed each other in the most dreadful fashions imaginable. It didn't suit the setting at all. Yet, paradoxically, in being so glaringly out of place, it fit. Anything that was insane was welcome here. After all, this whole fight was nothing more than a lethal satire.

Even if the words were out of place, they stabbed me like a vibroblade to the chest. Yes, I knew that Anakin was deluded, but if he was this misguided than there was no hope for him.

"Then you are truly lost," I shouted back, my heart shredding itself into fractions that were so small even an electron microscope wouldn't be able to see them. Despair flooded me for a moment as I finally had the agonizing revelation that the Anakin Skywalker I had loved and nurtured ever since he was nine was dead, replaced by the brutal Darth Vader.

In that instant, I managed the impossible: I let go and trusted the Force in a way that I never had. Once again, I was calm, centered, and at peace with myself much as I had been when I had departed to hunt down Grievous. Suddenly, for the moment, I was relieved of sorrow at how Anakin had committed suicide and liberated from any guilt that I possessed for my role in his undoing. Now, I could look at my former friend, apprentice, and brother, and do the utterly unexpected, making a soaring leap into the air and landing on the hill overlooking the river of lava.

"It's over, Anakin!" I hollered, as I watched as he readied himself to jump after me and continue our duel. It was an old military aphorism that he who had the high ground had the fight in the bag. While this wasn't necessarily true, because a force that was more numerous or significantly more powerful than the one on the high ground could emerge the victor from a difficult and bloody fight, when the size of the forces and the ability of the forces were approximately equal, it was. If he attempted to assail me, he would be mowed to pieces. "I have the high ground. Don't try it."

In the future, I would gaze across that moment through the mists of time that distorted everything, striving to unravel what exactly my motivation was when I offered this admonishment, but, in the end, I think the ultimate answer was that I wasn't thinking at all—I was trusting in the Force. I wasn't thinking that not only had Anakin never been in the practice of complying with my commands, he also had a defiant streak that prompted him to attempt any feats I advised him not to, as if he always possessed the overwhelming desire to prove me wrong. Besides from that, he was a prideful being. He was young, strong, graceful, powerful, and, in his mind, he could beat any odds. In his brain, a suicidal leap became just another opportunity to prove himself and his might. He was wrong, and, if he had gambled that I wouldn't be the one to demonstrate that, he was incorrect again. Finally, he had bid too high and now he was going to lose everything.

"You underestimate the power of the Dark Side!" he snarled. On the last word, his eyes blazing manically, he soared into the air.

Acting instinctively because I had finally accepted that this creature wasn't Anakin and there was no such person as Anakin Skywalker anymore, I sliced through Anakin's knees with my lightsaber and then twisted upward to take off his remaining arm without hesitating long enough to think between my actions. It was just as well that I had no time to think. If I had thought, I might have shown mercy, and now wasn't the time to be merciful to a Sith. It was the time for justice.

From what felt like a lightyear's distance, I watched as Anakin's lightsaber slammed into the ground before my feet. A second later, what was left of Anakin fell onto the smoking black sand near river of lava.

Anakin—no, I reminded myself severely, Anakin no longer, but Darth Vader—Darth Vader scrabbled at the sand with his metallic arm, struggling frantically to find a purchase, so that he could drag himself away from the seething lava. Glancing down at the maimed shell of what had once been my best friend and the hope of the galaxy, I felt tears prickle my eyes.

"You were the Chosen One," I shouted, not addressing Darth Vader, but rather my dead best friend whose spirit the monster Vader had callously murdered. "You were supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them. You were to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness."

And I was an imbecile to put all my gana eggs in one basket and to have trusted him so much, I added to myself, swallowing hard and fighting a losing battle to recover some semblance of self-control. As the tears that had been stinging my eyes began to trickle down my cheeks, I realized that I had never cried in front of Anakin. Maybe we wouldn't be here if I had. Maybe if I had cried in front of him, he might have seen as being as human as I was and trusted me with his greatest secret. I had thought that by never crying in front of him, I was doing him a favor, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I had done him the worst disservice by not breaking down in front of him ever. It didn't matter. Right or wrong, nothing we had done mattered. We were here now, and it was only the present moment and what we did in it that amounted to anything.

"I hate you!" screamed Vader, and I flinched. The words rang with a horrible wrenching truth, and I knew that, no matter what I had thought, Anakin hadn't really died until that moment. Earlier on in our duel, he had still harbored affection for me, and there had been times when he could have killed me that he had hung back. Now, he felt nothing for me but hatred. The knowledge that Anakin Skywalker had still been alive in some capacity when I maimed him and that I was responsible for the birth of Vader was awful enough. What was even worse was the undercurrent in his tone that told me that Anakin had always despised me, whether or not he had acknowledged it and whether or not it was accompanied by other emotions.

I wasn't accustomed to being loathed with such fervor, especially not by someone who had been my best friend for years. I wished that I could retort that I hated Vader, but that would be a falsehood. When I had first met Anakin, I saw an indefinable menace, but I hadn't hated him, and once I had taken him as my Padawan, his charisma had ensured that in no time I had come to love him as a son. As he grew, he had become my best friend and my brother, and I could no more of hated him than I could hate parts of my own body.

Even now, as I bent to scoop up his lightsaber and he slipped too close to the lava causing his robes to ignite as he howled, I knew that sound would last forever in my most haunting nightmares, because I loved him still. Only a beast could have watched as the flames engulfed him, consuming him as surely as his own rage and loathing had, and not felt some pity. Yet, I couldn't move to aid him. He couldn't survive. He was completely Vader now, and he had to die.

At the same time, I couldn't step forward and end his life. Intellectually, I knew that it would be better for him if he died like that than if the flames continued to gobble him up, but I still couldn't unfreeze myself enough to do so. After all, emotionally, I still did not want to be the one who was actually the death of him. If the fire ate him, then I wasn't technically the one who had killed him, and that was better for my conscience. Besides, he was defenseless right now, and Jedi didn't kill people who couldn't protect themselves.

Turning away from him, and telling myself that I had not abandoned Anakin, I called over my shoulder my answer to Darth Vader's final cry of fury and loathing, "You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you."

Since he was dead, I could finally tell him so, I thought as I stumbled away, urging myself to hurry, because I felt a disturbance in the Force that suggested Sidious was traveling here. Now that Anakin was dead, I wouldn't be breaking the code of silence that had prevented me from admitting it to him while he was alive, and I could ask myself the most tantalizing question of all: Would things have ended differently if I had told him the truth sooner? Well, I would probably never know, and that ignorance would be my torture. The words what if were the most powerful and the most agonizing words in the galaxy, since they made us long to change the immutable and introduced hypothetical scenarios too wonderful and too unbearable to examine at length. Now, for the rest of my life, I would be asking myself if the galaxy would be a far better place if I had just done one little thing differently. Now, I would never have peace, and, now, I would never deserve it.

Dashing the tears away from my eyes, I raced back to Padme's ship, remembering that she needed medical care and not wanting to meet Darth Sidious when he came calling. When I reached Padme's vessel, I discovered that C-3P0 and R2-D2 had already taken her aboard, and I was glad. Right now, all I wanted was to get away from this terrible place. Later, I could decide what to do next, but at the moment, I only wished to escape the fiery destruction of Mustafar and get Padme to a facility where she could receive appropriate medical care.

As I clambered into the ship's cabin, switched on the craft, prepared us for departure, and found us coordinates for an inhabited planet or moon medical center that could tend to Padme, I gazed over at R2 and sighed. It hurt me to see the feisty astromech here, because it underscored Anakin's absence, since Anakin and the droid had been inseparable ever since Padme had given R2 to Anakin. Droids are meant to live long after their owners have snuffed it and are fertilizing flowers, I snorted mentally at my own folly.

Therefore, there was no rational reason why I should feel that I was still riding with Anakin Skywalker when I was riding with R2. Then again, logic wasn't everything, and, since Anakin had made so many modifications on the astromech, I couldn't help but feel that he had left an indelible mark on the droid. Now, any time anyone took R2 for a spin, they were riding with Anakin Skywalker whether they knew it or not, and that thought was both a balm and a torment to me.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is short and isn't that great, but this was a hard scene for me to write, since I always thought Padme's death was kind of lame.

Will to Live

When the vessel finally landed on Polis Massa, an asteroid I had chosen to rendezvous with Yoda and Bail on because it was obscure enough to ensure that Sidious wouldn't direct his gaze to it until we had left but also possessed a sizable enough population to guarantee that Padme would receive the quality medical care that she so desperately required, I jumped out of the pilot's seat, scooped up Padme as gently as I could, and rushed her out of the craft.

At the bottom of the ramp, Bail and Yoda were waiting for me. When he glimpsed the condition of his fellow politician, Bail looked appalled and exclaimed, "Take her to the medical center quickly!"

It was on the tip of my tongue to comment dryly that this was what I was doing. However, I decided that it would be more prudent for me to save my breath and focus on carrying Padme into the medical facility. After all, I was terrified for her and her baby. She hadn't regained consciousness since Vader stopped trying to choke her, and I feared that we would lose both her and her baby---

Luckily, I was prevented from spacing down that perilous lane for the umpteenth time by the arrival of a pack of medical droids, to whom I was more than happy to surrender Padme. Maybe, in their scientific databanks, they would have the knowledge of how to heal her that I sorely lacked. No, there was no maybe, I snapped at myself as the droids wheeled her away and I joined Bail and Yoda in the observation area. Padme was young, strong, and healthy. She would survive her husband's assault especially if she got medical attention just as she lived through everything else. She had to live, because if there was one thing the galaxy didn't need more of at the moment, it was death.

I had just managed to convince the more pessimistic fractions of my brain that Padme and her unborn baby would live when a medical droid floated toward our grim congregation, announcing in a metallic voice that sounded oddly shrill to my sensitive eardrums, "Medically, she is completely healthy. For reasons we can't explain, we are losing her."

"She's _dying_?" I demanded, horrified. No, my head screamed in frantic denial. No, I couldn't deal with another loss like this, especially not now.

This whole scenario was impossible to absorb. Anakin had attempted to strangle the woman he loved most in the galaxy, and she was now lying on a cot in a medical facility willing herself to perish with a baby in her womb. More crazy still was the idea that the female in question was Padme Amidala. My mind was nowhere near flexible enough to wrap around the concept that she could stand up to the powerful Trade Federation when she was only fourteen and fight without fear on Naboo and Geonosis in addition to waging an endless battle for peace, liberty, justice, and the Constitution in the Senate only to give up without a struggle now. It made no sense, and the droid's lack of panic only made it harder for me to accept the truth…

However, I was compelled to face brutal reality again when the droid nodded and admitted, "We don't know why, but she's lost the will to live."

Of course a droid wouldn't understand why, because droids were programmed for logic, not creativity, and, therefore, they did not comprehend human psychology. They did not understand that for every sentient there is one thing the individual cannot bear to live without, and if it is taken away, then death appears a mercy and living an endless torture. For Padme, that thing had been Anakin. As a cheesy romantic holofilm scriptwriter would say, Anakin had broken her heart. Seeing how the man whom she had loved had destroyed himself, making himself a twisted parody of everything noble he had once represented, had ruined her, as had what he had done in her name and the painful realization that the Republic she had devoted her entire existence to serving was dead. Of course if both Anakin and the Republic—everything she loved most—were dead, she would want to perish, too.

What an idiot I was not to foresee this outcome sooner. Yet, somehow, I had never entertained the notion that the knowledge of how her spouse had murdered himself would be the death of her. Still, even if I had known that this epiphany would be the death of her, would I have done things differently? Probably not.

I would probably have decided that the need to eliminate the threat that Anakin embodied mattered more than keeping Padme alive. It was a blessing that I hadn't realized that the knowledge of what Anakin had become would kill Padme, because it had made doing my duty just a tad easier, and, at the present, I was about to appreciate any reprieve, no matter how tiny, that the Force offered me. Sometimes blindness was a great gift. It protected us from thoughts that would crush us faster than a planet on our backs would.

Still, Padme didn't have to die. Maybe I could restore the will to live in her. I couldn't give up on her the way I had given up on Anakin or I would never get so much as an hour of sleep in the future. It was still possible that I could make something go right when everything else had gone nightmarishly awry…

"We need to operate quickly if we are to save the babies," continued the droid, and I blinked in astonishment at the plural noun. "She's carrying twins."

"Save them, we must," Yoda agreed, his features a melancholy mask. "They are our last hope."

That was true. Those twins were the only ones with the power to right the wrongs of their father, because only they had a chance of inheriting his connection to the Force.

The medical droids went back to work delivering the babies, and I joined them in the surgery chamber, hoping that human contact would comfort Padme, even if she didn't seem cognizant of what was occurring around her. As I clutched her hand, I thought that being beside her as she gave birth was the least that I could do for her and Anakin. In terms of atonement for my crimes, this was weak, but it was the best penance I could devise at the moment.

While the droids delivered the first of the babies, Padme stirred. Her eyes shining with puzzlement and fever, she stared at me. Then, she noticed the medical droid, and it dawned on her what was transpiring. "Is it a girl?" she whispered, and I flinched to hear a voice that had once rattled the roof of the Senate dome sound so frail. Maybe the voices of everybody who shouted into the wind ended up sounding as defeated as that.

"We don't know," I responded, feeling harried by the medical droids bustling about us as they tended to her. "In a minute."

"It's a boy," proclaimed a medical droid, holding him up in the air. Looking at the baby, I saw the lad was wrinkled and crimson-faced like a choleric elderly man scolding a horde of unruly teenagers for trespassing on his lawn. No doubt judging that the piercing luminescence of the gleaming surgery room was too much of an attack on eyeballs that were accustomed to the dark warmth of his mother's womb, the baby squeezed his eyes tightly against the light.

Regaining a touch of interest in the rest of the universe, Padme provided a ghost of a smile and stretched out her arm to take him from the med droid. Watching her, it hit me that it shouldn't be me who was beside her at this moment; it should be Anakin. This was his wife, and these were his offspring…Of course, Anakin was dead, because either he had committed suicide or I had committed fratricide.

As this idea occurred to me, I wished with an overwhelming intensity that things could have enfolded differently for Anakin, Padme, and me. I wished that Padme and Anakin hadn't been forced to keep their relationship a secret. I wished that I could have been by his side at his wedding and there to congratulate him when Padme give birth to their children like best friends all over the galaxy could do. In short, I longed for us to have been normal. Yet, if we had been normal, none of us would never have met, and that would have been a real tragedy.

"Luke," Padme named her child, her fingers stroking his forehead. Hearing the name she had chosen for her little boy, I thought it was apt. In an ancient Nubian dialect, Luke translated roughly into light, which fit, since young Luke would bear the burden of replacing the star that had burned out when Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side.

"And a girl," the medical droid added, as I mused thus. Glancing at the baby girl as the droid raised her in the air, I saw that her eyes were open wide, unlike her twin's. She stared at her mother for a long moment, as if she wanted to memorize her mother's face…

"Leia," murmured Padme, as she cradled the baby girl in her arms alongside Luke. Then, her eyes closed, and her body slackened, as she lost interest in the universe again.

"You have twins, Padme," I reminded her desperately, striving to manipulate a mother's natural affection and desire to shield her offspring into a reason for her to remain alive. If she just stayed alive, she would find joy in raising her children. Anakin's death didn't have to be the end of her. She could survive on her own if she only had the willpower. "They need you. Hang on!"

Yet, my pleas were destined to go unanswered, for Padme's head rolled back and forth on her head in a gesture of weak negation. "I can't," she mumbled deliriously. She fumbled around for my hand and slipped something that appeared to be a carved piece of wood on a long cord into my palm.

"Save your energy," I urged her, but she held up the chiseled wood as though it were as precious as a necklace of Corusca gems.

"Obi-Wan," she rasped, and I knew that if I ever slept again her tone as she said my name would haunt my nightmares. "There _is_ good in him." As she paused, panting, I flinched, because I recognized that there wasn't. I had extinguished the last glimmer of decency in Anakin Skywalker when I maimed him and left him to die in a seething ocean of lava on Mustafar. He was dead, and he had died stewing in his own rage and loathing, a fate worse than perishing in a supernova. "I know there is still…"

Here, her voice faded away entirely, and her hand dropped away from mine, as her life ebbed out of her. She believed in Anakin until the bitter end, I observed to myself, bowing my head and feeling tears sting my eyes, and not knowing whether my grief was for Padme, for Anakin, or for both of them.

My eyes blurring, I stared numbly down at the necklace Padme had thrust into my hand before she snuffed out the candle that was her own life. It had definite traces of Anakin about it in the Force.

My former Padawan must have cut this piece of jewelry for her as a token of his affection. Admiring the craftsmanship of the smooth wood, I recalled how skilled my best friend had been with all tasks that required hands. However, this necklace would have been meant to be more than beautiful; it would have been intended as a profession of love.

Love. The word made my stomach ache. If it hadn't been for love, Anakin wouldn't be dead, and neither would Padme...Love never did a whit of good, I concluded acidly. All it did was eat our hearts, raise our hopes only to cruelly dash them, create pleasant illusions that would murder us once callous reality popped them, trample on our spirits, and make us all behave like the lunatics who went bungee jumping without the bungee. If I had never loved Anakin or Padme, I wouldn't be crying now, and if I hadn't cared about the other Jedi, I wouldn't feel like curling up in a grave right now.

Yet, I couldn't lose the will to live as Padme had. After all, unlike her, I had much to atone for, and that meant that the least I could do was train her twins, so that there was a chance that the damage that Anakin had wrought could be repaired in the future. Padme's peace might lie in death at the moment, but mine could only be found in life. I had to redeem myself through Luke and Leia.

As this notion lanced through my brain, I glanced at the twins. Suddenly, I hoped fervently that they would hire nothing more than the Force from their father, because I never wanted to come face to face with anybody who caused me to recall Anakin Skywalker ever again.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: Um, I don't particularly like this chapter, but you might, and, yes, the scene with Qui-Gon is of my own invention, which is why it sucks. (Everything seems better in my head than on a computer screen, sadly.) Anything else you want to know, feel free to ask in a review.

I am considering maybe doing some scenes from Episode IV from Obi-Wan's point of view, so if you would like me to do so as a sort of epilogue, please let me know. Otherwise, this is the end of our journey together through the Star Wars movies in Obi-Wan's head.

An Uncertain Future

The conference room on Senator Organa's starcruiser was too white and shiny for my tastes—I would have preferred it if the color scheme had been a gloomy one as black as my mood. Similarly, I would have appreciated it if the chairs were harder, because, at the moment, the last thing I deserved was anything soft. Of course, even if the chamber had been decorated austerely according to my present tastes, I wouldn't have wanted to be here.

I felt as if I was as qualified to be making decisions about the future as the average Neimoidian or Hutt was too teach an ethics class. Yet, Yoda, Bail, and I were the only ones in the position to make these choices, so I would have to do my duty by contributing to the discussion in any way I could, even though I was convinced that at this point I was a liability rather than a help to this particular universe. Oh, well, at least contemplating the bleak future took my mind off the dark past that I could not alter, so there I sat, feeling useless and trying to bully my exhausted brain into thinking about what we were going to do with Padme's body and with the two infants who—at the risk of sounding like a melodramatic actress in a holofilm that never did well at the box offices—might very well be the galaxy's last hope.

"To Naboo, send her body," Yoda declared heavily. Looking at him I thought that recent events seemed to have added more wrinkles to his already creased features. If they had, that made sense. After all, I was willing to offer a credit back guarantee that I had gotten at least fifty gray hairs over the last day. "Pregnant, she must still appear. Hidden safely the children must be kept."

"Someplace where the Sith will not sense their presence," I added quietly, knowing that if Sidious ever learned of the Skywalker twins he would either kill them or turn them to the Dark Side as he had done to their father. As this thought occurred to me, I hoped that an attraction to the Dark Side wasn't genetic…No, it couldn't have been. When I had met him, Anakin hadn't been any eviler than a typical nine-year-old, so the Dark Side hadn't been something he had been born with an inordinate amount of. It had been something he had chosen, and if I had been a better Master or a better friend, he would never have selected that path—

"Split up, they should be," announced Yoda, interrupting my musings, which I hardly minded, since my brain wasn't journeying to anywhere pleasant and probably never would again. Perpetual misery would be my penance for failing the Jedi, Qui-Gon, Anakin, Padme, and the Republic, and I only wished that it was within parsecs of atoning for my crimes.

"My wife and I will take the girl." Bail's head shot upwards suddenly. "We've always talked of adopting a baby girl. She will be loved with us."

Yes, she would be. Bail could never resist a charity case, which was why so many Clone Wars refugees flocked to Alderaan, and, as a close friend of Padme's, he would want to care for her daughter as best he could. As for Breha, his wife, I didn't know much about her except that she was barren. However, I was aware that most infertile women adored children all the more because they couldn't conceive any themselves. Apart from caring parents, Leia would be raised on a peaceful planet, would be cared for in a palace in Aldera, would be well-clothed and well-fed, and would be impeccably well-educated. She would want for nothing, and she would be hidden in plain sight. Bail's idea was as flawless as anything in this hideous new Empire Sidious had constructed could be, and I nodded my approval of his plan.

"What about the boy?" I asked now that we had resolved the problem of what would happen to Leia.

"To Tatooine, to his family, send him," Yoda remarked, and I winced, recalling that harsh desert world that wasn't about to appear on any list of the galaxy's ten thousand most hospitable planets any time in the next eon. However, sending Luke there made sense. Anakin had a stepbrother there, and the stepbrother would feel obligated to take Luke in, because he was family, and family was the group that had to let you in when everyone else locked you out. Better yet, Tatooine was a marginal world ruled by Hutt crime lords who wouldn't be any more eager to share their power with the Empire than they had with the Republic. The very insignificance of Tatooine would shield Luke, and the savagery of the place would instruct him in the resilience he would need if he and his sister were ever to battle the Empire.

"I will take the child there and watch over him," I stated, thinking that exiling myself to Tatooine with its endless expanses of sand and punishing heat would be a good way of torturing myself for my failures. Seeing Anakin's son grow up would be both a torment and a pleasure, because, as he matured, Luke would probably display characteristics that reminded me of his father and mother. It would be comforting to behold those traits as a reminder that they would live on in some form, but it would be a source of agony when I remembered how Anakin had perished in a river of lava on Mustafar and Padme in childbirth. Witnessing Luke's development would hammer into my head the fact that neither Padme nor Anakin would see either of their offspring grow up. Both of them would have paid high prices to be parents—higher even than most sentients had to pay—and would know none of the joys of parenthood.

Trying to persuade myself that something positive would emerge from our suffering despite the fact that the odds of anything good happening over the next century seemed as great as a Hynoi slug's chances of survival in a black hole, I focused intently on Yoda and asked, "Master Yoda, do you think Anakin's twins will be able to defeat Sidious?"

"Strong the Force runs in the Skywalker line. Hope only we can," sighed Yoda, and I noted grimly that I could not. My ability to hope had died along with Padme, Anakin, the Republic, and the Jedi Order for which I had sacrificed everything. "Done then, it is. Until the time is right, disappear we will."

Nodding his understanding, Bail rose and exited the conference room to give his pilot directions. Copying him, I got up and started to leave as well only to be halted by Master Yoda's voice, "Wait a moment, Master Kenobi."

Wondering what new burden was about to be slung across my reluctant shoulders, I pivoted and returned to my seat.

"In your solitude on Tatooine, training I have for you," Yoda informed me, as I settled myself.

"Training?" I repeated, flabbergasted. I hadn't been aware that any training apart from the typical exercises that Jedi did to remain in peak physical and mental form existed for a Jedi Master. Not that I was complaining. After all, extra training would be something to occupy myself with during my long days alone in the desert.

Yoda smiled, and I had just enough time to marvel that he was still capable of that expression after our lives had been so thoroughly wrecked by Sidious before he went on, "An old friend has learned the path to immortality—your old Master, Qui-Gon Jinn."

"Qui-Gon?" I echoed, not caring if I sounded like a broken holorecord, since I was so shocked. In my mind, the dead merged with the Force and did not retain any sense of individuality once they did so. Yet, from what Yoda had said, Qui-Gon had managed to do just that. Such a feat was impossible as I perceived it, but my Master had always excelled at achieving the impossible and succeeding in ventures that a vast majority of the galactic population would classify as insane. Yes, there had been plenty of occasions since the Naboo mission when I had heard Qui-Gon's voice inside my head dispensing advice, but I had been confident that it had been my memory and my imagination conspiring to provide an illusion of his presence in my brain. Now, though, I was wondering if there was some other more supernatural explanation for this phenomenon. Perhaps I wasn't as crazy as I had thought I was. Well, if Yoda was speaking the truth, as he always had in my experience, I surmised that I would discover the answer to this shortly. "But…how?"

"The secrets of the ancient Order of the Whills he studied," replied Yoda. "How to commune with him, I will teach you."

"I will be able to talk with him?" The notion was simultaneously wonderful and awful. It would be so soothing to confide in Qui-Gon and to receive his calm, sage guidance again. However, it would be appalling to admit to Qui-Gon that I had failed in training Anakin. Despite all my best efforts, I had let him down, and knowing for sure that he was disappointed in me was another blow I couldn't take right now.

At Yoda's nod of confirmation, I felt my eyes water and my throat clench. A peculiar combination of elation and misery made my muscles tremble as Yoda explained, "How to join the Force, he will train you. Your consciousness you will retain when one with the Force—even your physical self, perhaps."

How ironic it is that us Jedi should learn this awesome new power now when the Jedi are no more, I observed inwardly, stubbornly clinging to my cynicism in spite of the revelations that were repeatedly rocking my galaxy. Then, taking a stab at optimism, I looked at Yoda and reminded myself that the Jedi might endure much longer if Luke and Leia were educated in our ways, and that Yoda and I weren't dead yet, either. Hearing the thin, high-pitched wail of an infant echoing down the hallway, I almost grinned. Maybe there really was hope for the future, after all.

In the end, it transpired that talking to Qui-Gon wasn't that complicated as I discovered in one of the starship's bedrooms while we were on our way back to Naboo for Padme's funeral. At any rate, physically being able to communicate with him wasn't difficult, but figuring out what I wanted to say to him was. I must have been crazier than an irate reek, since, after all these years of longing to converse with him, I was now at a loss for words. Well, my failure to communicate with anyone effectively was just another fault that I could add to my ever-expanding list of shortcomings.

"Master, I'm so sorry I failed you," I burst out when I could finally speak. The instant the words came out of my mouth, even I thought they were pathetic. Apologies worked when you were a toddler and had dismantled the crèche, but they were not useful when you were an adult who had indirectly managed to destroy the Republic and the Jedi. Sorry did not even begin to make things right in that instance, but, unfortunately, asking forgiveness that I didn't deserve was the only action I could take at the present. "Anakin's joining the Dark Side was all my fault—I let you down."

"Obi-Wan, you didn't disappoint me." Qui-Gon's tone was gentle, but I didn't believe him. There was no way he couldn't blame me, since whatever blame I felt towards myself for all the horrors that had engulfed the galaxy, he must have felt multiplied by a thousand.

"I was supposed to train Anakin, Master, and I made a total mess of it. That was your last request of me, and I couldn't even do that right," I insisted so he would know I wasn't completely stupid. No, my curse was that I could see all my mistakes, and yet I could do nothing to fix what I had done.

"You did the best you could," Qui-Gon pointed out mildly.

"It wasn't good enough, Master." I shook my head rapidly, dismissing this.

"Maybe not, but if you have done all that you can to accomplish something, and your goal isn't achieved, it's not healthy to blame yourself," Qui-Gon responded, and I listened, doubting that anything could lessen my guilt, but at the same time hoping that something could. After all, I didn't think I could live for very long with a heart as weighty as mine was. "Sometimes we pour everything we have into something, and the Force decides that venture is going to fail anyway. In that case, we gain nothing by berating ourselves for not being stronger than the Force. Instead, we should just step back and trust that the Force has a master plan that we can't see or comprehend from our position. If we can have that faith after everything we have worked so hard to build is destroyed, we will know true peace."

"Anakin was the Chosen One, Master," I argued. "He was supposed to bring balance to the Force, not join the Dark Side."

"Or maybe it was the Force's plan for him to turn to the Dark Side," countered Qui-Gon, and I wished I could believe this, so that I would feel less guilty. "Becoming one with the Force has inspired me to take a long view of things, something of which you doubtlessly approve. The Republic was old and rotting from within. Perhaps Anakin was the Force's way of bringing about its downfall."

"Even a corrupt Republic is better than an Empire ruled by a sadistic megalomaniac like Sidious," I protested vehemently. Just about anything would be better than that. Even government by unicellular organisms would be preferable, since at least there would be some level of freedom, although there would be no legal protection and no semblance of order.

"Yes, but a government as harsh as Palpatine's will cause sentients to appreciate their rights, and they will be compelled to fight for their liberties," Qui-Gon reasoned. "With time, this could lead to the formation of a new Republic that could better protect and serve its people."

If that was true, then the Clone Wars had been even more pointless than I had thought. Deciding that even I could not bear to space down that depressing lane, I stammered, "But Anakin can't have been destined to join the Dark Side, because he wasn't evil to begin with. It's too cruel for the Force to just create someone and sentence them to become evil."

"In that case, he chose to become evil, and it is still not your fault," maintained Qui-Gon firmly.

"It is, Master, because if I taught him better, he would never have fallen to the Dark Side," I insisted.

"Obi-Wan, you can't take responsibility for every action that Anakin took. He was his own person, and he made his own choices," Qui-Gon responded sternly. "No teacher is accountable for every error his pupil makes."

"He is if he is supposed to have shown that student not to make that error, Master," I persisted, discovering that I was not used to being a Padawan after all these years of being (an obviously substandard) Master.

"And what if he has and the student didn't listen?" Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow.

"Then the teacher should have made him listen," I murmured.

"Theoretically, perhaps, that is so," conceded Qui-Gon, "but in reality, no Master is perfect, and it is unfair to expect that of ourselves. Besides, if you blame yourself for Anakin's downfall, then you also need to blame me for demanding that you take him as your apprentice when you were so young, and any Padawan, nonetheless one of his power, would have been a tremendous challenge. Then, you have to blame Yoda and the rest of the Council for accepting your request to train him and for doing their part over the years to alienate him from the Jedi. If you split the guilt you feel among Anakin, Sidious, myself, Yoda, and the rest of the Council as well as with yourself, you might find it less crushing."

At his words, I found that some of my guilt was trickling out of me, and I felt inside my chest the faint stirrings of what might one day become a separate peace that nobody in the galaxy could deprive me of. However, before I could say anything else, Qui-Gon left me.

I was alone again with my memories of Anakin, of Padme, of the Jedi Order, and of the Republic. These memories still drove vibroblades into my vulnerable chest, but at least they were dull vibroblades this time, because Qui-Gon's comments had provided me with some of the distance that I needed to step back and examine occurrences with the tranquility and the wisdom only the Force could offer.

As silly as it sounded, thanks to Qui-Gon, I was starting to convince myself that out of the chaos that had torn through the galaxy recently, the Force would ultimately weave a breathtakingly gorgeous tapestry. Maybe I was sitting on a stool below the Force, and I could only see the tangles in the tapestry, but I could still tell myself that the knots served a beautiful cosmic purpose in the end, even if I could never hope to comprehend what precisely the significance was. Sometimes, as Qui-Gon had reminded me, the greatest peace was in acceptance and faith. Sometimes, even though it might seem like the universe was governed by a temperamental drunkard who had less brain cells than a piece of Noki wood, you just had to believe that the Force knew what it was doing. Otherwise, you would drown in an ocean of misery, and there was no profit in that.

We would take Padme back to Naboo for the state funeral that she richly deserved after she had given so much of herself to the citizens of her planet and the Republic, and then I would hand Luke over to his aunt and uncle. After that, I would step back and trust in the Force to guide me as it saw fit. There was a reason for everything, and I had to remember that it was there even if I could not see it, since there would have been no point in believing in the Force otherwise. Then, when the Force finally decided that it was time for me to join it, I would be able to merge with it without sacrificing my identity. Perhaps I warranted a far worse fate, but the Force was merciful, and it wasn't going to give me what I deserved. I could take some measure of comfort in that as I endured my lonely exile on Tatooine.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: By popular request, here is an epilogue that ended up being a wee bit longer than I planned. Hopefully, you guys will enjoy it since it really marks the end of our journey through Obi-Wan's mind. Man, this epilogue was difficult, though, because George really does have problems with continuity that are hard to explain away. (Sometimes I really don't think that he watched the originals before writing the prequels, but whatever. I just do the best I can with the material I am given.)

Reviews: Reviews are always nice, as are suggestions for what I should do now that my great project is done and I might actually go through withdrawal symptoms.

Epilogue: Peace at Last

It started out like any other day on Tatooine, stiflingly hot and sunny even in the shade of my humble abode. I was about three hours into my meditative trance in which I spent my mornings when the Force set off alarm klaxons in my brain. Not far away, someone was in trouble, and not just anyone. Over the years that I had watched him from a distance because Owen Lars frowned on eccentric old me having any contact with his nephew, I had become familiar with Luke's Force signature, and there was something screaming Luke about the alarm ringing inside my head.

Glad that I could still be useful even in my battered condition and pleased that I could rescue someone—especially Anakin Skywalker's son—I rose, feeling my legs protest. I was out of shape without any Jedi to spar with, and I was confident that I appeared twice as old as I was. However old I looked, it was nowhere near as old as I felt, though.

Well, I consoled myself as I exited my hovel and shuffled through the sand dunes that Tatooine provided in abundance with all the speed my frail body could muster now, after all I had been through—after all the hard times I had been lucky enough to survive by virtue of sheer will—it was no wonder that I had grown old. Still, I wished that I could have run through the sand, as I followed Luke's Force imprint, the faintness of which suggested that he was unconscious.

As usual, though, wishing didn't get me anywhere too swiftly, and, as I neared the scene, I saw the savage Sandpeople drop an inert Luke before a speeder while they ransacked through the vehicle's contents, stealing anything that caught their fancy.

Berating myself inwardly for not getting here sooner, I did the only thing I could to help Luke: drive off the Sandpeople. The Sandpeople had always been intimidated by me, or, more specifically, by the weird power that I emanated, and, as I approached, emitting a howling moan that echoed around the canyon, they fled.

They had only just retreated when I reached Luke. Leaning over the young man, I saw that he was indeed knocked out by a club. I was about to lay a hand on his sweaty forehead to perform a simple Jedi healing technique that had come in handy a thousand different times on a thousand worlds, when I heard a toodle.

Not just any toodle, either. An R2-D2 toodle. As ludicrous as it sounded, R2-D2's toodles were distinguishable from those of any other astromech, and I would never forget the sound of R2's toodles even if I became deaf in the years to come. Reeling with astonishment because I had imagined that I would never have contact with R2 again and anything closely associated with Anakin still had the power to unnerve me, I whirled around to behold R2 concealing himself in the shadows of a rocky alcove.

"Hello there," I called, lowering my hood so that I would seem less intimidating and beckoning him out of his hiding place. It felt odd to recognize R2 and know that he couldn't identify me as the Obi-Wan Kenobi who had once roamed the galaxy with Anakin during the Clone Wars. What was even more unsettling to contemplate was how little R2 had altered over the years. While the Republic underwent a lobotomy to become the Empire, while Padme rotted in her grave, while Anakin had become a dark perversion of everything he had once embodied, while the Jedi died away, and while I faded into a wisp of a man, R2 alone remained the same. Of everything and everyone I had ever known, only this feisty astromech had stayed constant. Everything and everyone else had disappeared into the quicksand of time somehow. Grinning inwardly at how my Clone Wars self would have scoffed if I had addressed R2 as if he were a human, I added, "Come here, my little friend. Don't be afraid."

For a few seconds, R2 hesitated. Then, he waddled over to where Luke was crumpled in a heap on the ground and began to whistle his concern over the young man's wellbeing.

"Don't worry—he'll be all right," I assured R2, thinking that Luke was blessed to be traveling with R2. If anyone could read my thoughts, they would have assumed that I was grossly exaggerating the importance of one seemingly insignificant astromech, but such a person wouldn't comprehend just how special R2 was. Even before R2 had been intensively modified by Anakin, the droid had shown exceptional resilience and bravery when he repaired Queen Amidala's starship when we were fleeing the Trade Federation a lifetime ago when I was still a Padawan. With his modifications, R2 was an invaluable addition to any team. He understood sentients, he could form plans, he could improvise, he could fix just about any ship related problem faster than I could blink, he could reprogram an automatic pilot to crash into the nearest star, he could electrocute, he could fence with a metallic extension arm of his, and he could slice though any code, firewall, or other protective measure devised by living beings. Having him beside you in a war was a tremendous advantage to say the least.

Once I had calmed R2 down with a reassurance that Luke would be fine, I rested my palm across Luke's forehead, drew on my connection to the Force, and roused him.

"What happened?" he demanded, jerking upright.

"Rest easy, son," I advised, not wanting him to pass out again from too much exertion after he had just regained consciousness. "You've had a busy day. You're fortunate that you're still in one piece." He was indeed, because I had never been as talented a healer as some other Jedi like my long-dead friend Bant Eerin. I was much better at destroying things and creating the ultimate destroyer than I was at healing things.

"Ben?" stuttered Luke, eyeing me with blue eyes that were so wide and intense that for a moment I really felt like I was looking at Anakin. Knowing that I was not and that nobody would ever be able to make eye contact with Anakin ever again, I was tempted to avert my gaze from Luke's. Yet, that would never do. I had to guide Luke in order to atone for my role in the formation of Darth Vader, and to guide Luke I would have to find the courage to meet his earnest, blazing eyes that were so much like his father's that they seared my heart and brain. "Ben Kenobi! Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"The Judland Wastes are not to be traveled lightly," I observed, stating a fact that anyone who had survived on Tatooine for more than a year would be aware of just as they would realize that traveling in general on Tatooine was perilous. What passed for cities on Tatooine were packed with outlaws and drug addicts who would kill their mother for a decicred, and the desert was teeming with Sandpeople who would torture anyone they could capture to death. At night, Tatooine's many menaces were even less bashful about showing themselves, but during the day traveling invited dehydration, since it was always hotter than a H'nemthe in lust by middday. "Tell me, young Luke, what brings you out this far?"

"Oh, this little droid," he explained, waving a hand at R2. "I've never seen such devotion in a droid before. There seems to be no stopping him. He claims to be the property of an Obi-Wan Kenobi."

My shock at hearing my old name combined with my amazement that R2 would claim to be owned by me when he had never been my property caused me to sink, weak-kneed, onto a rock.

"Is he a relative of yours?" I heard Luke ask from what seemed like a lightyear away. "Do you know who he's talking about?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," I murmured, rubbing my beard and marveling at how odd it was to say and listen to the name that I had once been made famous by the Holonet under so many years ago when my life had been so crammed with miracles that I had failed to appreciate them amidst the proton torpedoes and grenades. "Obi-Wan. Now that's a name I haven't heard in a long time—a very long time."

"I think my uncle knew him," Luke announced. "He said he was dead."

"Oh, he's not dead, not yet." I couldn't suppress a slight, amused smile at my own expense. I may have looked ready for the grave, but I wasn't buried yet, and when it came my time to leave, I would not have a body left to burn or bury, since, as Qui-Gon had instructed me, I could now become one with the Force and yet retain my individuality.

"You know him!" Luke exclaimed, wearing the excited expression that I was intimately familiar with after more than a decade of living beside his father.

"Well, of course I do." My smile broadened as Luke's eyes expanded so they were approximately the diameter of black holes. "Of course I know him. He's me." Becoming more pensive, I muttered, "I haven't gone by the name of Obi-Wan since, oh, before you were born."

I had stopped being Obi-Wan when Anakin had changed his name even if I hadn't known it at the time.

"Then the droid does belong to you."

"I don't seem to remember ever owning that droid…very interesting," I answered, knowing that Luke would probably regard me as a typical senile elderly man who couldn't recall what he had done an hour ago and whose idea of exercise merely entailed getting up. He would never guess that I was far younger than I appeared, because even I was prone to forgetting that I wasn't nearly as ancient as I looked. As I glanced up at the overhanging cliffs, it occurred to me that it would be prudent for us relocate our meeting. "I think we had better get indoors. The Sandpeople are easily startled, but they will soon be back and in greater numbers."

As Luke pushed himself to his feet, R2 shrieked, causing Luke to shout as if he had only just remembered, "Threepio!"

3-PO? Could this 3-PO be the C-3PO that Anakin had built when he was no more than a slave boy in Watto's junkshop? Was this the C-3PO who had served Padme loyally for years?

While I wondered if I was going to encounter two droids from my painful past in one day, R2 rolled over the edge of a sand pit and beeped frantically. Understanding this meant 3-PO was over there, Luke and I hurried over and found ourselves standing above a dented and tangled protocol droid lying half buried in the sand. Although one of the droid's arms was missing, I could still see that the droid was none other than C-3PO.

Bending over, Luke tried to revive the droid by shaking him. When that failed to have the desired impact, he flipped a switch on C-3PO's back until the droid's systems reactivated and his eyes gleamed.

"Where am I?" C-3PO's fussy voice sounded bemused. "I must have taken a bad step."

"Can you stand?" Luke wanted to know, his manner urgent. "We've got to get out of here before the Sandpeople return."

"I don't think that I can make it," C-3PO declared melodramatically, demonstrating that he would have made a worthy addition to the theater if droids were allowed to star in plays. "You go on, Master Luke. There's no sense in you risking yourself on my account. I'm done for."

As R2 chittered something that probably amounted to a warning that C-3PO was done for if he didn't move his lazy servomotors, Luke scolded, "No, you're not. What kind of talk is that?"

Before C-3PO could offer another overly dramatic response, Luke and I helped him to his feet while R2 watched. As we righted C-3PO, I sensed a disturbance in the Force and knew that the Sandpeople would be rejoining our party soon. Picking up my pace, I told Luke, "Quickly, son. They're on the move."

As rapidly as we could, we stumbled through the sand over to Luke's landspeeder. After some difficulty lifting C-3PO inside, Luke, R2, and I climbed into the speeder, and then Luke flew back to my humble abode as rapidly as possible.

Once we were inside, Luke settled himself in a corner and busied himself with reattaching C-3PO's arm. For awhile, I stared at him, remembering how Anakin had loved to repair anything with any tools he could get his hands on.

"Your father was a skilled mechanic himself, you know," I said at last.

"I didn't." Luke frowned as he twisted a wire, his face, taut with concentration, mirroring the furrowed forehead that Anakin had worn whenever he was engrossed in a challenging project. "I heard he was a pilot, not a mechanic."

"He was a pilot," I confirmed, "and a great one at that. He could run circles around battleships and hit a part of them the size of a nuna pit on the way down. Everyone in the Republic knew of his exploits and every child that nursed a dream of becoming a pilot admired him. At least half the children in the Republic wanted nothing more than to be a hero in the Clone Wars like your father."

"No, my father didn't fight in the Clone Wars." Luke looked as if I had just told him that Tatooine was the new Coruscant—or Imperial Center, as everybody was supposed to refer to it as now. "He was a navigator on a spice freighter."

"That's what your uncle told you," I countered, thinking that if the life of a Jedi was too tame for Anakin Skywalker he would never have settled for the life Owen had pretended he had led. "He didn't hold with your father's ideals. He thought he should have stayed here and not gotten involved."

That's what Anakin had told me during one of the rare occasions he had alluded to his trip back to Tatooine so long ago when he had been assigned to protect Padme from assassins and ended up falling so passionately in love with her that his ardor was not only his downfall but hers, the Jedi's, and the Republic's.

"You fought in the Clone Wars?" Luke demanded, looking as though he couldn't envision me fighting in a cantina brawl nonetheless a galactic civil war and desperate battle to save a civilization that had ultimately proven too far gone to rescue or revive.

"Yes, I was once a Jedi Knight the same as your father," I replied.

"I wish I had known him." Luke sighed.

"He was the best star pilot in the galaxy." I couldn't prevent myself from waxing nostalgic again, because I was at that phase in my existence when the most fun I had comprised of babbling on about all the awesome experiences I had once had, "and a cunning warrior. I understand that you've become quite a good pilot yourself. And he was a good friend, which reminds me…"

With that, I rose, walked over to a chest, and rummaged around inside it. Force, I hadn't looked at Anakin's lightsaber in so long that I had nearly forgotten that I had been planning to give it to Luke when he approached adulthood. As my hand closed over the hilt that Anakin had spent countless hours forging, a pang rippled through me.

Even after all these years, Anakin's lightsaber still bore an aura of him, and I recalled all the times I had seen it burning alongside mine as we dismantled battle droids back when we had imagined that war was something we could win together. Not willing to lose myself in those memories again, I walked up to Luke, and, still staring at Anakin's lightsaber, I presented it to Luke.

"I have something for you," I informed him as his fingers shut around the weapon, my throat constricting at the idea of Anakin's lightsaber being entrusted to his son finally. "Your father wanted you to have it, but your uncle wouldn't allow it."

Actually, Anakin had been too preoccupied with screaming and howling as lava devoured his flesh to make such a request, and, by that time, he would have hated me too much to ask for anything, but I knew that the Anakin I had fought alongside in the Clone Wars would have wanted his lightsaber to be passed along to his son. Sometimes facts weren't the only truth. "He feared you might follow old Obi-Wan on some damned-fool idealistic crusade like your father did."

Luke opened his mouth to pose an inquiry, but was interrupted before he could start by C-3PO announcing, "Sir, if you'll not be needing me, I'll close down for awhile."

"Sure, go ahead." Luke barely spared the stuffy droid a glance before returning his focus to me. "What is it?"

"Your father's lightsaber," I stated, my heart feeling as heavy as durasteel as I contemplated Anakin for the millionth time that day. "This is the weapon of a Jedi Knight, not as clumsy or as random as a blaster."

As I established as much, Luke pressed the button on the handle, and the long azure beam holding crystals Anakin selected decades ago on Illum shot out. An eerie blue light chased its shadows across the walls and ceiling as he studied the lightsaber I had just handed him.

"It is an elegant weapon from a more civilized age," I went on, sensing that he was still paying attention and filing the data away in his mind even if it didn't seem that way. "For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic before the dark times and before the Empire." My tone was wistful as I added mentally, _Before Anakin fell to the Dark Side and was replaced by Vader. _

Maybe something in my voice clued Luke into the nature of my musings, for he asked with the hunger that only a boy who had never known his father could display, "How did my father die?"

I'd been hoping that he wouldn't ask that question, since it was one that there was no easy answer to. Treading delicately, "A young Jedi named Darth Vader, who was a pupil of mine until he turned to evil, helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Jedi Knights."

Here I paused for a second, lost in an old grief for all those whom I had seen slain in the Temple. Even after all this time, the deaths of all those I had worked and studied alongside pained me. It would take a millennium to purge that holocam that showed a bright blue blade chopping younglings mercilessly to pieces from my memory, and it would take even longer to wipe the stain of their blood off my hands.

Yet, I couldn't tell Luke that the man who had committed those atrocities was his father. Luke needed to believe that his father had been a hero, and if he thought that Vader had murdered his father, he would be motivated to bring down Vader and the Empire as he and his sister must. Besides, it wasn't like I was telling a complete lie, since Anakin had been a hero during the Clone Wars, and Vader had killed Anakin in a symbolic and metaphorical fashion. Thus, what I was telling Luke wasn't so much a lie as a peculiar hybrid of fact and fiction. One day, when he had defeated the Empire and Vader, I would tell him the entire truth.

"He betrayed and murdered your father," I went on. "Now, the Jedi are all but extinct. Vader was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force."

When that happened, everything that was noble in him became immoral, everything compassionate about him became ruthless, his humor was transfigured into irrationality, and his determination was hardened into adamantine cruelty. The nastiest lesson of all about Darth Vader's birth was that even the best and brightest sentients could be turned into savage monsters. In fact, maybe it was the noblest beings who were at the most risk. After all, the Dark Side didn't prey on just anyone. No, it focused its strongest efforts on the greatest individuals, since they made the best trophies. The Dark Side devoted itself to subverting the noblest people from the inside until they became hollow shells that could be filled with anger and hatred.

"The Force?" Luke's puzzled tone dragged me out of my philosophical ruminations.

"The Force is what gives a Jedi his power," I explained. "It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together."

I was prevented from adding anything more to this by R2's beeping, reminding us of his presence.

"Now, let's see if we can figure out what you are, my little friend, and where you come from," I remarked, leaning over to take a closer look at the astromech. The words were largely for Luke's benefit, since I already knew who R2 was, although I was interested to learn why he had sought me out after all these years.

"I saw part of the message he was—" Luke was cut short as a recorded image of a beautiful, well-dressed young woman with her hair wrapped in buns over each ear was projected from R2's face.

"I seem to have found it," I observed dryly, as Luke stared at the flickering image of the lovely young lady.

"General Kenobi, years ago you served with my father in the Clone Wars," she began, and her clear, proud voice sounded so much like Padme's that it pierced my heart and I knew instantly that I was being addressed by Leia. Looking at her holoimage, I thought that if Luke had swam in Anakin's end of the gene pool, Leia had swam in Padme's, for Leia had the same face and body of her mother, as well as the same idealistic, stubborn, and passionate manner. "Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi; you're my only hope."

Leaning back, I thought about the implications of Leia's message. It went without saying that I would do all I could to help her, for the sake of the Rebellion, for the sake of the Old Republic, for the sake of Padme, and for the sake of Anakin. However, I was too old to go roaming about the galaxy myself, defying the Empire, and it was time that Luke received the education he needed to fulfill his destiny. After all, he could not remain a simple moisture farmer forever. Fate had dealt him a bigger hand of cards to play, and even he knew that.

"You must learn the ways of the Force if you are to come with me to Alderaan," I educated Luke, deliberately making it seem like it was a granted that he would be accompanying me to Alderaan.

"Alderaan?" Luke laughed incredulously. "I'm not going to Alderaan. I've got to go home. It's late, and I'm in for it as it is."

"I need your help, Luke," I admitted baldly. Gesturing at the air Leia had occupied a moment ago, I added, taking advantage of the attraction I had seen Luke felt to her, which he would no doubt regret once he learned that she was his sister, I added, "She needs your help. I'm getting to old for this sort of thing."

"I can't get involved. I've got work to do," protested Luke. "It's not that I like the Empire—I hate it—but there's nothing I can do about it right now. It's such a long way from here."

"That's your uncle talking," I established calmly. I knew Luke Skywalker well enough from my observations of him to see that he wasn't scared of adventures, and, like his father before him, thirsted for them.

"My uncle! How am I ever going to explain this?" Luke panicked.

"Learn about the Force, Luke," I persisted softly.

"Look, I can get you as far as Anchorhead." The fact that Luke was torn between his duty to his Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen and his thirst for excitement was apparent on his face and in his eyes. "You can get a transport there to Mos Eisley or wherever you're going."

"You must do what you feel is right, of course," I allowed. I didn't push any further, because the Force whispered to me that wouldn't be necessary: Luke would decide for himself to accompany me before we reached Anchorhead.

Quickly, Luke, the two droids, and I clambered into Luke's landspeeder. We had traveled perhaps a kilometer in the direction of Anchorhead when a gruesome sight—even by Tatooine's high standards—prompted Luke to slam the landspeeder to an abrupt halt. The gigantic Sandcrawler that a local tribe of Jawas used as a trading base had been wrecked. Strewn throughout the rubble were Jawa corpses that were rendered almost unrecognizable from the way they had all been brutally pounded.

"It looks like the Sandpeople did this all right," muttered Luke, as we examined the destruction. "Look, here are Gaffi sticks and bantha tracks. It's just—I've never heard of them hitting anything this big before."

"They didn't, but we are meant to think they did," I replied. Pointing down at the tracks I was crouching to scrutinize, I decided that it was never too early to begin teaching Jedi observation techniques. "These tracks are side by side. Sandpeople always ride single file to hide their numbers."

"These are the same Jawas that sold us Artoo and Threepio," Luke noted.

"And these blast points are too accurate for Sandpeople," I continued grimly, waving a hand at the broken Sandcrawler. "Only Imperial stormtroopers are so precise."

"Why would Imperial troops want to slaughter Jawas?" Before I could answer, Luke had an epiphany. His eyes widening, he turned his head to gaze at R2 and C-3PO and put the holopuzzle together. "If they traced the robots here, they may have learned who they sold them to and that would lead them home!"

With that, he raced for the speeder and hopped into it.

"Wait, Luke!" I hollered after him. I already knew what he would find if he went back to the his aunt and uncle's homestead, and it wasn't a sight I wished for him to see, especially because I feared he might not be ready for something like this—that this would be the thing that sent him over the edge, just as his father had been driven over the edge. "It's too dangerous."

He didn't listen to me. Skywalkers never listened to my advice. I was left deserted in an ocean of sand, waiting for Luke to return and hoping that he would still be recognizable as himself when he came back. Ultimately, with Skywalkers I could only wait, hope they would come out of the risks they put themselves through relatively unscathed, and worry that they wouldn't.

While I fretted about Luke's reaction to discovering the fate of his aunt and uncle, I distracted by myself by building a pyre for the Jawas with the droids' assistance. We were almost finished burning the massacred Jawas, whom I hoped would find rest and peace in the Force's gentle embrace, when Luke returned.

As I walked toward Luke, I read in his anguished expression that his home I had been destroyed as I had feared and that his aunt and uncle had been killed. The knowledge that Beru and Owen Lars were no longer among the living was a worse blow to me than I thought it would be. I hadn't known them well at all, but from what I had seen they were good sentients, especially for beings that had spent their whole existences on a world as harsh as Tatooine. From what I had gathered from the glimpses of them I had over the years, Beru had been a mild-mannered woman who loved to cook and who had a spine of durasteel buried deep inside her, while Owen had been a taciturn, hard-working man who concealed his emotions behind his gruffness. Moreover, they had taken Luke in and raised him like their own son, and for that alone I would have respected them. Neither of them deserved to be murdered by Imperial soldiers, but atrocities like this occurred all the time in the Empire, which was why it must be overthrown, and the Empire could not be conquered without Luke. If the deaths of Beru and Owen were what compelled Luke to fight the Empire, then at least they wouldn't be meaningless.

"There was nothing you could have done, Luke, had you been there," I informed him gingerly. Even as I established as much, I knew he wouldn't believe me. For many years to come, he would be tormented by the knowledge that he had been too late to save the people who had been like parents to him, just as I was tortured by the realization that I had been to tardy to save Qui-Gon and Anakin had been burdened with the knowledge that he had been too late to rescue his mother from the Tusken Raiders. History had an odd way of repeating itself and forcing people to grow through guilt—or buckle under it. Knowing that it was my job to ensure that Luke didn't break under the weight of guilt like his father had, I pointed out, "You would have been killed, too, and the droids would be in the hands of the Empire."

"I want to come with you to Alderaan." Luke's face looked more mature and more resolute as he met my eyes with his own determined ones. "There's nothing for me here. I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father."

Studying him, I knew that Luke would succeed where Anakin had failed, because he was stronger than his father and he would not be shattered by grief and guilt. With my guidance, he would vanquish his inner demons and then destroy both the Empire and the Sith. He would fulfill the destiny his father should have, and by teaching him I would gain absolution for my crimes. If Anakin had been my undoing, then Luke would be my salvation, and by doing everything that his father should have achieved, he would be Anakin's redemption as well. Redemption for himself and for his best friend was all a frail old man could ask for, and I had made my peace with the galaxy. I would be content to die now if it weren't for the fact that there were still a few tricks I wanted to teach Luke.


End file.
